


Love And Peace Or Else

by suchfun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Twins, Blind Date, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchfun/pseuds/suchfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I met a guy, we had a thing, and now he's stalking me. Wow, wasn't that a sweet fairy tale for the ages, now we can all sleep happily." Declan gets up, tries to push past Derek to get to the door, but Derek shoves him back down.</p><p>"Who was he?" he pretty much growls. "If he was an—"</p><p>"He's an alpha in training," Declan says, a combination of like fifty percent gleeful, forty percent smug and the tiniest percent contrite. From the way it seems to be directed at Derek, their relationship is even more messed up than Stiles thought. "Son of the Wirth pack Alpha."</p><p>"The New York Wirth pack. The pack that took Laura and me in after our family— after the fire." Derek clenches his jaw. "Their alpha was an ally!"</p><p>"I'd say... not anymore?" he replies lazily.</p><p>Okay, fuck this guy, seriously. "Wow," Stiles says. "Even though I know that's all front, because yeah, hi, like ultimate bluffer sitting right before you," he gestures to himself, "I <i>still</i> think you're a giant douchebag."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so grateful to my artist, [Danny](http://joelvoice.tumblr.com). I wasn't the best partner in this pursuit, but [Danny's art](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BwRlt56j6F5vdnFYbkp3cDAwQWc/view) is incredible and perfect and deserves all the love and reverence in the world. 
> 
> I wish I could describe this fic succinctly. I've tried. I've drafted explanations. I've deleted them each time because I realised I was over explaining. Basically, it boils down to me picking and choosing which elements of canon I was going to adhere to, especially the bits involving death. Hopefully it explains itself!
> 
> Innumerable thanks to [Bek](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bek/pseuds/bek), for her general cheerleading (EVERY DAY, I'M SO SORRY) and the betas. She is my life saver, and maybe one day I'll be able to write something with enough Scott for her. This fic was also helped along by this [AU gifset](http://tomrun.tumblr.com/post/63494636706/sterek-au-in-which-the-hale-twins-fight-over), even though I pretty much deviated from that plot entirely. Thanks, op! It fulfills a few squares of my TW bingo card too (even though I got it a year ago and I'm not even sure if the challenge is still running...). Title is a U2 song.

"I know this guy, and he's totally your type," Kira tells Stiles. She looks so earnest and excited, eyes sparkling even under the terrible downlights of the only good coffee shop on campus. She's like sunshine personified, and up until now she's been really subtle about trying to set Stiles up with her friends—just a few pointed comments here and there, nothing even bordering on embarrassing—so there is no way Stiles can be mad at her. It'd be like being mad at your kitten for leaving a dead bird offering on your doorstep.

"What has Scott been telling you about my type?" he asks warily, because Scott is his forever bro, but Scott has proven time and time again that he is unreliable within the realms of romance. See: trying to convince Stiles he should ask out Isaac. _Isaac_. Even the _notion_.

Kira cocks her head. "Wellllllll... Smart, stubbled, sassy?"

"That... is surprisingly accurate, you may proceed."

"Okay so I met him at the running track, he seems really witty and nice—"

"Yeah yeah yeah, what does he look like?" Kira does not look impressed. Stiles just shrugs. "Humans are an inherently shallow life form Kira, no one ever praised us for our priorities."

"I'm not answering that anyway." She tucks a bit of hair falling from her messy bun behind her ear, and somehow manages to inject all the stubbornness in the world into the action. "You can find out tomorrow night when you meet him."

Stiles sighs dramatically, but they both know it's just for show. Scott's not the only one who's endured falling for Kira in some form. How is everything she does so charming? Stiles is a goof too but no one goes around smiling indulgently at _him_. "I guess I am actually that desperate and/or pathetic," he bemoans. "I've become that person whose friends just whore out at any opportunity. I'm the runt of the litter. That one last bruised apple. I'm those little bits of popcorn in the bottom of the bowl that never popped. I'm... Oh my god, I'm a black jellybean!"

"Absolutely," Kira agrees, obviously not understanding the seriousness of this realisation. She pats his cheek. "Don't be home before midnight."

+

Stiles slides into the seat opposite his date one hundred percent confident—his winning smile at the ready, charm turned up to eleven, he's totally got this in the bag—but when he finally gets a good view of the dude he recoils so fast he practically gets whiplash. "I… _Derek_?"

The dude looks up, seeming... Well, seeming a special mixture of both bored and intrigued that only a face like Derek's could pull off. (Also, he has no facial hair, which is a sight Stiles thought he'd only see in back editions of the Beacon Hills High yearbook. Not that he's snooped.) "You know Derek?" he asks.

Stiles immediately goes on high alert, glancing over to where Scott is sitting with Kira a few tables away. Technically, they came to save him if this date was a disaster. Now Scott is frowning, leaning close to Kira and speaking urgently. Stiles turns his attention back to... 'Derek'. " _You're_ Derek," he says slowly.

"I'm not Derek. I'm Declan. But you could call me Derek, if you prefer." He waggles his eyebrows.

Okay, something is definitely wrong. "Have you been drugged?" Stiles hisses.

"No."

Stiles can't handle this. He checks the tables around them before leaning in conspiratorially. "Dubconned by something supernatural?"

'Derek' moves in too, resting his forearms on the table and running two fingers sensually up and down Stiles' hand. It's weird. Stiles thinks he'd probably like it more if he knew what was going on and 'Derek' was acting normally. But then again, if 'Derek' was acting normally none of this would be happening, and this happening is the only reason why Stiles knows something is weird in the first place.

Why do his dates always get so complicated.

"As far as I know," 'Derek' says lowly, and Stiles has never heard that voice get so husky before, "love is a very natural, very primal thing. Wanna try making some?"

And there it is. "Okay I'm convinced, Derek would never use a line like that." He snatches his hand back, glaring at Definitely Not Derek, because he's not exactly feeling very safe right now and it's probably best that he maintains as much distance as possible. Of course, that won't help at all if this guy happens to be a supernatural creature (of course he is, who isn't these days), but at least Stiles might have the time to get in a witty rejoinder before he's slaughtered. He has a few saved up for special occasions.

"Should I try a different line?" Definitely Not Derek's eyes are sparkling, and he's grinning, like this is the most fun he's had since he last lured some poor defenceless college boy out and made them suffer through smouldering looks and terrible flirting, before taking them deep into the forest to eat them.

Stiles really wishes that wasn't such an educated prediction.

"You have more?" he asks disbelievingly.

"What I have is huge."

"Aaaand your innuendo is even worse than your lines." He pauses, tries to stay relaxed, and then decides that they've skirted around things enough. "So you're what, Derek's doppelgänger?"

The guy pauses dramatically, which doesn't really do anything to convince Stiles that he _isn't_ Derek's clone, before smirking and saying, really smugly, "Twin."

Stiles glances at Scott for confirmation— _twin_? _Seriously_?—and Scott nods, wide eyed, as he listens to whoever is on the other end of his phone. Stiles turns back to this— _Derek twin_ and tries not to look like his world is as rocked as it feels by this information. "You're... Derek didn't tell me he had a twin."

Derek Twin smirks. "Derek doesn't tell you much, does he?"

"Where have you been then, O Mysterious One?" Stiles persists. "Spreading your wolfy joy throughout the lands?"

"College. Travel. Escaping. A bit of modeling on the side."

Modeling. Of course. Stiles curbs the urge to stab this dude with his fork. Considering the probable healing factor, it'd just be a waste of good cutlery.

Okay so fine. He isn't Derek. He's actually Derek's twin. That's… that's just… "Does Derek even know you're here? Wait, he knows you're alive, right? Because there was this whole thing with Cora—"

"Yeah, I know about that." He frowns, finally a familiar expression, and looks worried for the first time. "Are you going to tell them about this?"

"Nope. But I don't have to, pretty sure my buddy already has." He jabs his thumb towards where Scott is still talking on his phone. Kira waves, and Scott says something, making Derek Twin grimace.

"What?" Stiles asks.

"Derek's on his way."

"Early family reunion, I guess." He leans back in his seat and grins, slapping out a pattern on the table top with his palms. "Shall we order?"

+

They order, because why not. Stiles is hungry and traumatised, and Declan (yes, _Declan_ , of all names) said he'd pay. Silence descends on them as soon as their waiter leaves, and Stiles can't find it within himself to break it for once, because it is just too fucking weird talking to someone with Derek's face who isn't Derek.

"Why didn't Kira recognise me?" Declan asks eventually. He's playing with the salt shaker and doesn't particularly sound like he wants to know the answer, but unluckily for Declan, Stiles recognises that tone. Derek uses it all the time when he's trying not to seem interested in something.

"She doesn't know Derek," Stiles says eventually. "Scott only met her a few months ago." They'd been very eventful months too—everyone's supernatural alter egos had been revealed in a series of unfortunate events involving kitsune and some druids—but it'd worked out in the end, and none of them can afford to overlook an outcome like that. Ever. "Why didn't you smell Scott on Kira?"

"I did, I just didn't care."

"Do you have a death wish?"

He shrugs. "I've made it a habit not to wish for anything."

Of course. Stiles rolls his eyes. "Ugh you're just as bad as him."

"And I don't even need the try hard leather."

Stiles bristles at that, something in him defensive at the sneer in Declan's voice, but he keeps his own tone light. "Yeah well he bought his last jacket online and it's a bit tight in the biceps and he's trying to stretch it out first so I'm guessing... cardigan, today."

He snorts. "Bullshit."

Stiles raises his brows. "Ten bucks." He holds out a hand, before snatching it back quickly, because actually there is a much more interesting way this could go. "No, no money—an embarrassing story about Derek."

Declan shakes on it.

+

Derek bursts through the door to the restaurant twenty minutes later. He's wearing a black cable knit cardigan.

Declan sighs.

"You should see the one with the thumb holes," Stiles boasts.

+

It's nowhere near as heartwarming as television soaps have taught Stiles that reunions with long lost siblings should be. There's threatening looks and sniffing and a lot of staring, but no happy tears, no desperate hugs, and no loving words. 

Stiles hadn't been there at the precise moment Derek and Laura had been reunited with Cora again, after they'd spent years thinking she was dead, but it had to have been better than this. He'd seen the looks on their faces afterwards, the joy amongst all the angst. He'd witnessed them all try to adjust to being a family again, to learn all these new, adult versions of the kids they once were, to learn to love each other again. There had been such emotion there, such strength of feeling, but this is just… cold.

"You got here quick." Declan's super casual, slouching in his seat, legs spread and arm across the back of the empty chair beside him. Stiles doesn't know who he thinks he's fooling because he started tensing up the second before Scott informed Stiles that Derek's car had turned into the street.

"I was already on my way," Derek says dismissively. He circles around the table to stand by Stiles 'protectively'. What a dick, Stiles thinks fondly. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Having dinner," Declan says. 

And that's it.

Stiles feels cheated. He and his mom used to watch Days Of Our Lives together, and now that memory is tainted. Fucking werewolves.

"Why didn't you call me," Derek demands, and Stiles realises it's directed at him.

"Scott called you."

Derek frowns, seeming very unhappy for some reason. "What are you doing out with him?" He jerks his head towards Declan. "Did he pretend to be me?"

"My eyebrows are smaller," Declan says primly. He extends a claw and uses it to start cutting up the pieces of tomato he'd picked out of his salad. Stiles leans over, not even trying to be subtle, and Declan tilts his head a little so Stiles can see. Oh yeah, they really are smaller.

"I thought I was seeing someone normal," Stiles says, falling back into his seat again. "How I'm still such an optimist after so long is honestly beyond me. "

Derek seems dubious. "You didn't know—"

"And for the record, neither did I," Declan interrupts. He smiles warmly at Stiles, but Stiles can't help but feel victimised. Declan has far too much of a (not-so-dearly departed, thank god) Peter Hale feel to him, and it's creepy watching Derek's face do that. "Although something tells me I wish I did."

Stiles has no idea what he's talking about but it seems to mean something to Derek, who somehow stiffens even further. It's all very confusing, but Stiles got a free burger, so he guesses the night wasn't a total wash.

+

Stiles and Scott have probably always been a little too codependent. Stiles knows this because his dad, Scott's mom, Allison, Kira, Laura, Derek, his teachers, his dad's deputies and even total strangers may have mentioned it to him once or twice.

Stiles and Scott do not care. Stiles and Scott got dem haters out dey circle, and when Stiles and Scott graduated high school they followed through on the promise they made when they were ten to go to college together. It worked out because of course it did, Stiles and Scott always make it work. Sonoma State is less than four hours away, which means easy access to family and pack. It has programs for both of them, and it's only like an hour from San Francisco which is awesome because Stiles fucking _loves_ cable cars. Plus—"The Seawolves, Scott," Stiles had breathed, leaning closer to his computer screen, halfway through compiling a dossier on their college options and experiencing the fun part of a sugar high. "Their athletics teams are called the _Seawolves_."

That had kind of been the decider, at least for Stiles anyway. It probably _should_ have been the distance thing, or something else equally practical, and Stiles is happy to go along with anyone who assumes it was, but he's sure Derek knows the real reason. He'd pretty much figured it out the first weekend Stiles visited home, a month into his freshman year, in a tshirt with 'SEAWOLVES' written across the front, drinking iced coffee from a bright pink 'GO SEAWOLVES' drink bottle and waving a three foot by five foot 'SONOMA STATE UNIVERSITY SEAWOLVES' flag. He'd spent like a hundred bucks all up on merchandise but it had been totally worth it for the way Derek rolled not just his eyes but his whole head, and also for the series of candid photos Stiles had received from Laura a few days later of Derek using the water bottle, and of Stiles' dad hanging the flag up in his office.

Anyway, the point is, Stiles and Scott share an apartment a few minutes away from campus, and that's where they all adjourn to when the restaurant manager kicks them out. Derek is pissed, probably because of something stupid like not wanting to reveal the location of their 'den' to an outsider, but since at least twenty percent of the criminology juniors and probably everyone in Scott's anthropology classes have been there for some gathering or another, that notion is pretty moot.

Stiles shoves everyone inside, Scott offers up refreshments (well, water and stale Pringles, since they haven't been grocery shopping in like... ever) and then there's silence. The Hales awkwardly stand around, Declan near the door, Derek close to the window and keeping himself between Declan and Stiles at all times. They glare at each other but pretend not to, and Stiles would really like to smash their heads together. Violently.

"So okay, it's not that this extremely uncomfortable glare-athon doesn't bring me abundant joy, but I really think we need to talk, so you," he points to Declan, then to the free spot next to Scott on their heinous-yet-unfairly-comfortable fuchsia couch, "go there and you," he turns to Derek, "grab two of the chairs from the kitchen." (He says 'chairs', really they're just bits of collapsible garden furniture he and Scott use because they can't afford a decent table set. Derek hates them, but Stiles thinks they add character and Scott just wants somewhere to play poker, so they stay.)

Derek raises his eyebrows challengingly. Stiles lifts his own in response and Derek is the one to fold, rolling his eyes and doing an about face to do as requested. Declan snorts derisively but when Stiles turns back to him he also moves to comply, dropping down beside Scott. Derek returns with the chairs and places them carefully on the floor, like the carpet in this place hasn't needed to be replaced for the past twenty years, and again sits down between Declan and Stiles. Stiles is either exasperated or touched or both.

He drops down and crosses his arms. "Okay, now talk."

More silence.

Stiles really should have known better. He looks helplessly at Scott.

"Oh right, okay, uh..." Scott rubs his hands together and angles himself more towards Declan. "So, what's up man?"

Declan rubs despairingly at his temples. "Oh my god."

"I'm serious, dude," Scott continues. "You can tell us. We could help you. We're really good at helping Hales out." He grins wryly at Stiles, and Stiles winks back, because they totally are. Their Hale-related track record is impeccable.

"There's nothing to tell," Declan insists. "No matter what underhanded methods you employ." Stiles prefers the term 'ingenious', but he can see where Declan is coming from.

"Are you sure?" Scott asks. He wrinkles his nose and tilts his head. "Cause you kinda smell like another werewolf. Like... a lot."

"A lot?" Stiles probes. He'll never be able to get enough of the werewolf stuff, no matter how gross it may be, and it's _the most_ frustrating thing in the world when they're all enigmatic and taciturn.

"Sex, Stiles," Derek says bluntly. "He smells like sex."

Declan's expression shifts, eyes narrowing, mouth pulling taut, and he turns to Derek. "Can't help but notice you don't. What, couldn't find another serial killer to whet your—"

Stiles is already opening his mouth to say something before Declan can finish his sentence, but it turns out he doesn't have to because Scott beats him to it.

"Hey," he says sharply. "We're not talking about Derek. Derek is a valued member of our pack and no one, no matter who they are, talks to him like that." (Not since Stiles did, all those years ago, but that was a different time. There were extenuating circumstances. His _dad_ was— Just— Anyway. He and Derek have an understanding now, so it's not like that even counts. Much.) Scott's voice softens, but his tone doesn't. "If you're bringing danger to us, then we need to know so we can protect ourselves. _And_ you."

Declan studies him for a few moments. "He reminds me of—"

"Yeah," Derek cuts him off, nodding.

Silence. Again.

"Ugh, whatever," Declan finally says. "But I seriously need to sleep first, can this wait until morning?"

"No," Stiles and Derek say simultaneously. Stiles looks at Derek. Derek looks at Stiles.

They both look at Scott.

"Tell us now," Scott says, and even though he doesn't inject any _alpha_ into it, Declan still complies. Stiles is so proud of his bro, seriously.

"I met a guy, we had a thing, and now he's stalking me. Wow, wasn't that a sweet fairy tale for the ages, now we can all sleep happily." He gets up, tries to push past Derek to get to the door, but Derek shoves him back down.

"Who was he?" he pretty much growls. "If he was an—"

"He's an alpha in training," Declan says, a combination of like fifty percent gleeful, forty percent smug and the tiniest percent contrite. From the way it seems to be directed at Derek, their relationship is even more messed up than Stiles thought. "Son of the Wirth pack Alpha."

Derek clenches his jaw. "The New York Wirth pack. The pack that took Laura and me in after our family— after the fire. That pack."

Stiles only knows a little about what happened to Derek and Laura after the fire. Neither of them have ever really talked about the Wirth pack, but Stiles has been able to make sense of a few things over the years, stringing together parts of the Hale's terrible backstory. From what he can tell, Kate Argent, Allison's aunt and a hunter, had killed almost the entire Hale family after she set fire to their house. And Laura, who had been next in line for the alpha power, had never received it and hadn't known why, had only known that she and Derek were omegas, confused and weak and in desperate need of help.

The Wirth pack had had an alliance with the Hales for years and had agreed to take them in, but they refused to have anything to do with Peter—apparently he'd done something offensive to one of their pack members a few years prior. Which Stiles one hundred percent believed, because even though he'd only spent a small amount of time with Peter (when he'd been _kidnapped_ by him), the dude was menacing and sinister personified. So Peter, in a vegetative state, traumatised and burned, had been put into care in Beacon Hills, and Derek and Laura had moved to New York. And even though Stiles gets the idea that it wasn't the best time of their lives, they probably would have been killed if they'd stayed on their own.

When they'd finally come back to Beacon Hills it was because of the rogue alpha. And then they'd realised the rogue alpha was Peter. Peter, who wasn't comatose. Peter, who killed all those people and bit Scott. Peter, who'd taken advantage of a terrible situation all those years ago and had killed Talia himself, while the fire raged around them, stealing the alpha power and then using it to heal faster so that he could come back for revenge.

Peter, who Laura had had no choice but to kill, to eviscerate and burn and scatter all over Northern California, because the Wirth alpha told her stories about werewolves using magic to come back to life, and made it very clear what would happen if Laura didn't take care of things.

And if the Wirth alpha had been that passionate about protecting a random member of her pack, Stiles can only imagine how she's going to react after someone has messed with her own _son_.

Oh. Shit.

Declan, though, is seemingly unaware of the potential destruction his behaviour has prompted, and he just shrugs. "I go where the work takes me, man."

And Stiles had thought _Jackson_ was a pompous, self-important asshole.

"Their alpha was an ally!" Derek yells.

"I'd say... not anymore?" he says lazily.

"Not...!" Derek trails off and frowns aggressively, claws digging into his own knees. Stiles would lean over and try to retract them if he didn't think they'd probably end up embedded in his _face_. "When Laura finds out—"

"Oh yeah," Declan scoffs, "so scared of the person who cries every time she watches WALL-E."

"I'm telling her you said that," Derek says petulantly, and Stiles is pretty sure he's never been witness to a more ridiculous argument.

"Okay okay," Scott says, waving a hand around, "can we _please_ get back on track. Dude, you said this guy's like, stalking you. Is he trying to pressure you into something? Is he dangerous?"

Declan has the nerve to look smug. "He's in love with me. He wants me, what can I say."

"Wow," Stiles says. "Even though I know that's all front, because yeah, hi, like ultimate bluffer sitting right before you," he gestures to himself, "I _still_ think you're a giant douchebag."

"Enough of the name-calling, please," Scott says, tone kind of pleading, and Stiles feels bad for a few seconds, but then he looks back at Declan's awful face and goes right on back to thinking he's a dick. "Did he follow you here?"

Declan squints. It's not at all attractive, not like when Derek does it, because even though they're twins, Derek has these eye crinkles that just make it really hard not to just…

Anyway.

"I don't think he's found me yet," Declan decides. "But it won't take him long."

Okay, fuck this guy, seriously. "What did you do to this dude, did you mind-whammy him or what? Why is he bothering, why does he even like you?" Because while Stiles has had his fair share of obsessions, he's also learned how to back the fuck off, and while Stiles also has a thing for assholish people, he can not see anything about this guy that could inspire someone to traverse vast nations for him.

Finally, _finally_ , Declan looks uncomfortable. "We... we had a connection. He's training to be an alpha, and he…" He avoids Derek's gaze, hardcore, doesn't even twitch a fingertip in his general direction, and Stiles can feel Derek tense up even more beside him. Declan clears his throat. "He doesn't wanna be one."

"Oh well no wonder you had such a fucking _connection_ ," Derek spits.

A _fucking connection_ , Stiles thinks a little hysterically, that's funny. Ha.

"I told you I didn't want to talk about it, I knew this was how you'd react," Declan snarls back, a little lispy with the sharp descending teeth, his eyes flashing, and this is getting very very very out of hand. Stiles is actually legitimately nervous for all of three point five seconds before—

" _Hey_!" Scott roars, finally using the alpha mojo, and Derek and Declan immediately stand down, all wolfiness retracting within the blink of an eye. The silence echoes for a few moments before Scott continues, much more calmly, "So, this is obviously not working out tonight. That's fine. We'll finish up tomorrow morning. Derek, did you manage to book a room somewhere for tonight?" He checks his phone, probably for some sappy goodnight message from Kira. Stiles had hoped that maybe Scott got all of that out of his system in high school with Allison, but apparently Scott is someone who really is that sentimental in every relationship. (Which is actually a surprise to absolutely no one.)

Derek looks away. "I'll be fine."

"Dude, you're not gonna sleep in your car," Stiles protests. Derek scowls at him, and Stiles shrugs. He can't help it if he knows Derek so well.

"I'll go to Kira's. You can sleep in my room tonight," Scott says authoritatively. He looks at Declan. " _Both_ of you."

Stiles shivers. "You're so hot when you're tyrannical, man."

Everyone ignores him.

Derek turns to Declan. "I'm not sharing a bed with you until you shower."

"Oh yeah dude, _please_ do," Scott blurts out, jumping up and stepping as far away he can, eyes flashing.

"I'll get you a towel," Derek says. He knows exactly where everything in their apartment is because he was the one who unpacked it all when they first moved in. Sucker.

Scott and Stiles watch them go.

"Two of them," Stiles says wonderingly.

"Two of them," Scott agrees resignedly.

+

Laura calls.

"You're dating my brother?" she screeches, as soon as Stiles answers his phone.

He cringes and feels his face immediately heat up, because how could she even _know_ that he—

Derek glances at him with curious eyebrows and Stiles freaks out, vaulting (falling) over the back of the couch and hightailing it into his bedroom. He slams the door shut, hoping that their midnight viewing of Dredd will continue being fascinating enough (and loud enough) that Derek and Declan won't listen in.

He forces a laugh. "What? No, Derek's not—"

"Derek?" She sounds confused. "I'm talking about Declan. Derek's with you, too?"

Stiles sighs. "He's not _with_ me, it's— You know he visits every few months when we can't make it back to Beacon Hills, you know it's a thing. But it's not a _Thing_ , okay?"

There's a short silence. " _You_ know I have no idea what you're talking about, right?"

"Ditto!" Stiles shouts, his free arm kind of flapping around, as it is wont to do, especially when dealing with confusing and/or frustrating Hales.

"Okay okay, calm down! God, relax, it's not like I'm the demon wolf or something, I'm just asking."

He snorts and throws himself down into his desk chair. "Sorry dude."

"Okay," Laura says agreeably, which Stiles knows is code for 'I'm sorry too, even though you'll never hear those exact words ever come out of my mouth, I'm the alpha'. Thank god Scott doesn't care about that shit. "Now, in the interest of expediency I'm going to ask you some yes or no questions. Is Derek at SSU with you?"

"Yes."

"Is Declan at SSU with you?"

"Yes."

"Are they being dicks?"

He snorts. "Yes."

"Are you dating either of them?"

" _No _."__

__"Then why is Scott telling Cora that you went on a date with one of them?" Her voice gets all high pitched as she asks, and Stiles can imagine her eyes going all red at the injustice of being lied to. He thinks about stringing her along for a bit, getting Cora in trouble, but he knows that her revenge would probably make him regret ever being born, so he doesn't bother._ _

__"It was a blind date, neither of us knew."_ _

__"Who, you and Derek?"_ _

__"No, me and Declan."_ _

__"So you and Declan went on a date, and then Derek showed up?"_ _

__"Yeah, after Scott called him."_ _

__"Scott was there too?"_ _

__"And his girlfriend."_ _

__"Oh my god."_ _

__"My life is actually a farce," he agrees. "In more ways than one."_ _

__Laura snorts her agreement and Stiles pauses for a moment. There's a triskele decal stuck over the Apple logo on the lid of his laptop (neon pink with a clear background, Erica's idea of a hilarious souvenir from somewhere in Europe), and he follows the arms of it with a fingertip, wondering if he should say what he's thinking, if he should actually go there, before blurting, "Hey, you trust me, right?"_ _

__"Stiles, of course," Laura says, immediately, no thinking music required. "You and Scott, and the whole pack, with my life. What has you doubting that?"_ _

__"Why didn't you ever tell us about Declan?" he asks, finally voicing the tiny, niggling question he's had ever since that first night of his blind date. "I mean, this is pretty important to the pack, isn't it? Another whole Hale? Why didn't anyone else know?"_ _

__Laura sighs. "Yeah. That was stupid. I was just trying to make it easier, keep the peace. Especially with Derek."_ _

__"But you guys have like _never_ mentioned him in front of us. Ever. That had to take like, active censoring, right?" he pushes._ _

__"Not… really?" Laura's voice goes high at the end of her sentence, like she's trying to work things through in her own head. "Declan is my brother, and I love him, but he is the _hugest_ pain in the ass. Things are better without him here, and that's just the truth. None of us are happy when he's around for too long, especially not Declan. Cora and I text him sometimes, he calls on birthdays and anniversaries, but mostly we're all better off with minimal contact. We're his family, but we're not his people, which I think was what Mom and Derek never understood." Laura stops, cutting off that train of thought. When she speaks again her tone is bordering on urgent, like Stiles _has_ to understand how serious she is. "Just know it has nothing to do with _you_ , okay?"_ _

__Stiles does know that there are some things he'll never understand, like coming from a big family, one with such a strong hierarchy, one with such a different culture. And there are some things he has no right to judge, like the Hale family, their loss, and the way they cope and survive and push through. "Okay," he says. "Thanks for telling me now." He shifts sideways and collapses back onto his bed, taking his MacBook with him to dick around some before sleep, and a thought occurs to him. "Hey, Declan's a model right?"_ _

__She snorts. "He did a few campaigns. I think he just wanted to find the easiest way to fund his sabbatical, since Derek didn't want to let him have any of the insurance money."_ _

__Stiles half-listens as she rants about it, opening up a new tab and typing 'declan hale' into the address bar, switching to Google Images once his shitty internet finally loads. He hovers over the most promising thumbnail and—_ _

___Holy_ —_ _

__"Laura I'm sorry but I gotta go talk to you later okay bye," he blurts, ending the call and dropping his phone on the bed, not that he can bring himself to tear his eyes away from the fully-rendered magnificence on his screen._ _

__Declan had said that he modeled. Declan had _not_ said that he was a freaking _underwear model for Calvin Klein_._ _

__Holy god, he's amazing. Stiles watches Top Model with Kira, he knows about smizing and H2T and booches, and damn it if Declan isn't working it _hardcore_._ _

__"Fuck," Stiles breathes, leaning in, clicking open another photoshoot involving Declan arching against a wall in indecently low jeans and _holy_ —_ _

__Never has Stiles regretted sharing a house with stupid supernatural creatures and their stupid cockblocking supernatural senses with as much fervor as he does now._ _

__+_ _

__When Stiles opens the door to Scott's room the next morning he has no choice but to take a minute to wonder if he's actually still asleep, and having a really _really_ sexy dream. Or, if his sexual frustration is finally catching up with him and causing him to have really really sexy hallucinations. Or, if he's been transported into some really really sexy alternate universe.  
 Because Stiles has seen porn that goes a lot like this. Granted, it had only involved this specific scenario the once, because he's of the opinion that twin-on-twin action is kinda squicky (especially after the murder twins, ugh, once you've seen one bro literally absorb the other bro to form some megatron alpha bro, you almost never want to see a twin again). But the way Derek and Declan are sprawled on Scott's barely big enough bed, shirtless and blinking sleepily, is almost enough to make Stiles slap a hand over his eyes._ _

__He clears his throat. "Uh, how... close was your family, exactly?" he asks stupidly._ _

__Derek rolls his eyes before turning over, dragging all the blankets off Declan and facing the wall. Declan pulls a face, sliding off the bed and up to perform a ridiculous stretch, involving way too much flexibility and muscle clenching and ugh. Stiles is _better _than this. He will never let a little (a lot) of sexiness get the better of him, no matter how long it's been, no matter how much he wants to—___ _

____He clears his throat. Again. "Wow," he says feebly, "frog. In my. Throat. Um."_ _ _ _

____"What do you need, Stiles," Derek says, muffled around the bed clothes._ _ _ _

____"He came to see _us _, Derek." Declan smirks, flexing a bicep pointedly at Stiles. What a dick. "Obviously."___ _ _ _

______"Actually, I have class soon," he blurts, resisting the urge to back away, because all that up in his grill is kind of messing with his sanity. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't killed each other. Do you _know_ how much sheets cost to wash at the laundromat?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Declan surprises him by barking out a laugh. Stiles will never get used to seeing that expression on a face identical to Derek's. "He's so feisty, I like it. You chose well with this one, Derek."_ _ _ _ _ _

______He leans in and runs his hand over Stiles' hair, and Stiles would complain but his fingers brush across his ear and slide across his neck, lingering a little and... okay no, he should definitely be complaining, right _now_. He twists out from Declan's reach. "Not your pet, man. Also, no one chose me, most people try to get rid of me. Too bad for them I grow on them like hives. Or necrotising fasciitis," he adds contemplatively._ _ _ _ _ _

______Derek snorts. Declan says nothing as he hops into his jeans from yesterday._ _ _ _ _ _

______"So anyway," Stiles continues, because staying on mission, yes, that's a good thing to do, that's a great thing, "Scott called, he said he'd be over to figure shit out with you guys in like an hour."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"You're not gonna be here?" Declan asks, in a way that is probably supposed to sound innocent. It's way off._ _ _ _ _ _

______Derek growls and jerks upwards, throwing a pillow at his head, so fast Stiles can barely see it, but apparently slow enough that Declan can still catch it. Which only serves to make Derek look even grumpier. "He has a group presentation at midday."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Declan nods, looking interested for some reason. "Oh yeah? What's the topic?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Justifiable homicide," Stiles says, smiling obnoxiously at Declan. He's awesome at obnoxious, he can do obnoxious in his sleep, obnoxiousness as a coping mechanism is his M.O._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Did your partner finish those slides?" Derek asks, thankfully speaking over whatever Declan was about to say. He leans back against the headboard. "Remember to take a back-up in case they forget."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Done and done," Stiles reports, slapping the side of his backpack. "I have like three different USBs stored in different places upon my person, just in case."_ _ _ _ _ _

______The corners of Derek's eyes crinkle just slightly, and Stiles holds back his own grin. "Learning from my mistakes I see," Derek says, because yeah, Derek actually has some good college stories and advice, who could have guessed _that_ would happen._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Someone has to," Stiles shoots back._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Hmm," Declan says, leaning against Scott's doorframe and smirking like he's mid-photoshoot or something._ _ _ _ _ _

______Derek frowns. "What?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Nothinnnnng," Declan sings. Derek looks like he wants to punch him in the face. Stiles understands the feeling._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Okay, not awkward family drama, awesome." He rubs his hands on his thighs. "Anyway, I have no idea what you guys are gonna eat cos I finished all the cereal." Dry, straight from the box, because Scott was supposed to buy milk yesterday. He probably got a three-course breakfast at Kira's too, that dick. "But go at it, have fun, keep me updated, see you later." He does this stupid kind of salute-and-wink combo that he vows never to do again, and heads for the door while they start arguing about who is gonna go pick up some breakfast._ _ _ _ _ _

______+_ _ _ _ _ _

______In any given public speaking event in the name of a scholarly pursuit, Stiles has made it a habit to claim the first turn. One of the jokes in his extensive arsenal involves _liking to set the bar high_ , but really he just can't stand the waiting. Sitting through everyone else's half-assed attempts at group work for hours, waiting for your turn while pretending to be interested because sometimes there's bullshit marks allotted for participation in other talks, hearing the same information over and over in the dullest monotones ever known to man..._ _ _ _ _ _

______Oral presentation days are worse than battling a feral werewolf. In fact, Stiles would go so far as to say that that whole alpha pack altercation/fiasco/death trap was _easier_ than this shit._ _ _ _ _ _

______His group hates him for volunteering them to go first, but somehow, despite everything going wrong (Jessica drops her notecards two minutes before class starts and she never numbered them, Sunmi has a USB with Arrow episodes instead of the slides they need, and Tyrone has stage fright and a voice so quiet even a werewolf would have to strain), they finish up mostly successfully. Kind of._ _ _ _ _ _

______Whatever, like it even matters. As soon as it's done Stiles wipes it from his mind, finally allowing himself to stress over how the others are going. He _hates_ not knowing what's going on, hates the idea they might be planning something without his input. Whyyyy does school always have to interfere with (clearly more important) werewolf stuff, it's just so fucking inconvenient._ _ _ _ _ _

______His knee bounces for the whole rest of the class. Tyrone sends him a dirty look (oh yeah, he can be feisty when not traumatised by the notion of public speaking), which only gets dirtier when Stiles switches to sucking on his hoodie strings, maybe even slurping a little._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Just be thankful I don't have a clicky pen," he mutters._ _ _ _ _ _

______Tyrone changes seats._ _ _ _ _ _

______+_ _ _ _ _ _

______Stiles is packed up twenty minutes early, and as soon as they get dismissed he has his phone out of his pocket, dialling Scott as he shoves his way through his classmates and spills into the hall. Scott picks on the sixth ring, which is five rings too many in Stiles' opinion._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yo Scotty, what's up, what's happening, what's the skinny, fill me in immediately," he demands, propelling himself down the stairs in the direction of the Jeep._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Dude we've talked about this, you need to give me a chance to actually answer, remember?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yeah and I remember talking about this bit too, about how you stopping to scold me only wastes more time so just shut up and tell me what happened, do you have a plan or what?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Uhh... Kind of?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"See, this is why I should always be involved in any and all planning activities, you guys are seriously terrible. Is there a plan or isn't there?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yes, Stiles, there's a plan. It's just... Derek doesn't like it."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Shocker. "Derek hates all plans, Derek is planphobic."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yeah well this one... is pretty bad, it might even be worse than all the others."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Stiles takes a breath. Okay, that sounds completely horrible and soul destroying, great. What the fuck did Declan _do_ to this guy? Fucking werewolves, seriously. He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, lay it on me."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Scott hesitates, and Stiles hears voices in the background, the slide of the phone against fabric, more muffled voices, before Scott's back. "I really think this should be in person, man."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Scott. Are you being serious right now? You know I'm shit at waiting buddy, come on, you're killing me here."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Just come home," Scott says, and hangs up, probably because he knows that if he stayed on the line any longer he'd give in. He always does._ _ _ _ _ _

______+_ _ _ _ _ _

______Stiles has only just stepped over the threshold when Scott announces, in a rush, "You and Declan have to pretend to date!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Scott!" Derek snaps._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Sweetie, what happened to breaking it gently?" Kira scolds._ _ _ _ _ _

______"And _this_ is the true alpha," Declan mutters._ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Fake Relationship

Because he is doomed to suffer through injustice and peril forever, until he is finally shuffled off this mortal coil, this is Stiles' life:

1\. The Wirth pack is the biggest, most powerful pack in New York.

When Laura called the Wirth pack alpha she was pleasant enough,  
but that ended as soon as Laura tried to bring up Declan. In fact, she only got about thirty seconds into the topic before the Wirth alpha made it clear that:

3\. she has no intention of reining in her son. She "trusts his judgment" and he "needs the practice in inter-pack relations". Which according to Laura is actually just saying "I can't be bothered dealing with my bratty son and you are no threat to me so what happens from here on out is none of my concern".

4\. The Wirth pack's Alpha's son's name is Wolfgang (a name choice Stiles is never going to get over, _never ever_ ), and is by all reports he's a spoiled, egocentric dickface well on his way to a glittering future career in megalomania.

So a really nice change from their usual enemies, then.

"I remember him," Laura had said, face grainy over their terrible Skype connection, the derision in her voice clear as werewolf drool. "He was a shithead even when we were kids."

"Oh but he grew up so well," Declan had responded, doing terrible, horribly suggestive things with his eyebrows.

"Your similarity to Peter makes me very uncomfortable," Stiles had told him. 

Everyone had agreed. Even Declan.

5\. Wolfgang Wirth has decided he wants to take Declan Hale for his own (like some kind of crazy cave man-wolf-person). And because Wolfgang Wirth (and his mom too, probably) is obviously not just a little nutty but actually _batshit crazy_ , he is also both a) unwilling to take no for an answer, and b) very willing to start a pack war unless he's presented with a very compelling reason not to simply just take what he wants.

6\. Stiles is supposed to be the very compelling reason, even though Stiles has never compelled anyone in his entire life.

7\. Declan is an ungrateful dick. This much is made incredibly clear when, a week after their ill-fated blind date, on the first day of winter break, on the day they're supposed to drive back to Beacon Hills, Declan shows up forty minutes late even after he _promised_ to come early and help Stiles load the Jeep. Instead, Stiles had to do it all himself, and it took seven separate trips, and he had to lock up both his apartment and car each time, which meant it took like double the time it would have taken had he had _help_. 

Not only that, but his severe lack of werewolf strength means that now his back hurts and so does his elbow where he slammed it into a door frame and also his toes where he tripped over the gutter and smashed them into one of the Jeep's tyres.

Stiles wishes that all he had to feel was the relief and freedom that usually comes with ending a school semester, but instead he gets to feel a whole new set of pain and anxieties. Hoo-fucking-ray.

Ugh, how did someone who shared the same womb as Derek turn into such a terrible person, with absolutely zero signs of being able to reform himself?

"And of course you're a hipster," he says scathingly, stowing his last bag of dirty laundry (four bags isn't much, seriously, not when compared to those awful sweaty, muddy, bloody few months after Scott first got bitten) and turning to see Declan finally sauntering towards him. "I'd hoped that excessively-groomed-to-look-not-groomed-enough schtick was just a first date thing."

Declan poses a little, tensing his muscles and leveling a smoulder at Stiles. "Hey, it works for me."

Stiles eyes his shirt-vest-blazer-peacoat combination and decides that, embarrassing posing aside, it really is the most beautiful marriage of clothing he's ever seen. He also decides that he's going to deny he ever had that thought until his dying days—which, you know, could be any time soon considering the shitstorm waiting for them back in Beacon Hills. "Call Laura, tell her we're leaving and get an update," he says instead, swinging up into the driver's seat.

"Seriously, Stiles, we've been through the plan at least ten times by now." Declan settles in the passenger seat and bypasses his seatbelt, because he's a werewolf douchenozzle.

Stiles glares at him. "Well it's a terrible plan, excuse me for wanting to make sure we give ourselves at least a sliver of a chance of not being killed by a crazy lovesick stalkery vengeful alpha-in-training."

Declan rolls his eyes, and Stiles resists the temptation to smack him. He keeps almost forgetting that he's not talking to Derek, that touching isn't allowed, that he probably shouldn't push things as much as he usually does. Conversing with Declan is like Derek: The Early Years, except this time the hot prickly werewolf is supposed to be his _boyfriend_.

Fuck, Stiles is a sucker. Why does he always _agree_ to these things, he's supposed to be _smart_.

"Call her," he insists, starting the car and doing a u-turn, heading out to Highway 101.

"You've been spending way too much time with Derek," Declan mutters, but does it anyway.

Stiles doesn't say anything about how he feels like he hasn't spent _enough_ time with Derek, and concentrates on the road.

"This is fantastic," Laura says, directly upon picking up. "This situation has reached heights of fantasticalness I didn't even know existed."

"Wow, yeah, so helpful," Stiles says, not that he was really expecting anything more. "It's just not exactly what I had planned for the winter break of my junior year of college, you know?"

"I know, Stiles," Laura says firmly. "I know you don't have to do this, just like _you_ know how much we all appreciate it. You can stop angling for sympathy any time now."   
Except he kind of _does_ have to do this, because how could he say no Laura? When one of the alphas of your pack, who also happens to be one of your closest friends, sits down and asks you specifically for a favour, how are you supposed to say no, exactly? He's known Laura since the shitstorm that was his high school sophomore year. He's fought against Laura and alongside her, he's won and lost so much with her. They have so much history, even in the relatively short time they've known each other.

She helped him with Scott, right at the very beginning, when Stiles and Scott were just stupid high school kids with no idea what they were doing. Stiles helped her with Isaac and Boyd and Erica, when she was an alpha in need of a pack but wasn't quite sure how to find and keep one. And when Scott turned out to be a true alpha, they all worked together to integrate everyone, to run an unconventional pack with two alphas and become as strong and united as they are today.

They've saved each other's lives more times than he can count. The only person who has probably saved his life more than she has is Derek—and it's only with Stiles' help that Laura managed to encourage Derek to work through some things, see a supernatural shrink. At one point Stiles' dad actually thought Stiles was dating Laura, and she had been willing to go along with it to help protect him. And when the creepy-faced darach slash English teacher fucked all that up (more kidnapping, apparently it was a Stilinski tradition now), Laura totally sat down with them and helped explain everything his dad wanted to know.

She's given him relationship advice, with Lydia ("treat her like a human being, stop being a dick"), with Malia ("don't lead her on, stop being a dick") and with Minho in his first year of college ("ditch him, he's hot but he's being a dick"). He helped her hook up with that dude that one time before she decided that meant Stiles should know all the details and so he decided _never again_.

The point is, he knows what he's in for with her. She's an alpha but she's also his friend, she's supportive in a very different way from Scott, and sometimes Stiles needs that bluntness. It's one of the things he used to enjoy so much about his friendship with Lydia (before she literally got too important for them all, and had no time for anything that wasn't marked confidential by some sort of government agency), and now it's why he often chooses to seek Laura out rather than anyone else. Laura, at least, mocks him and _then_ helps him out. Hopefully. 

For now Stiles just clears his throat and refuses to look at Declan because he knows exactly what his smug face looks like, and it will only make him want to punch him.

"And you can stop looking so smug, baby bro," Laura says. Shit she's good. "I know you're the reason you guys are running so late."

"Yeah, well if this car could go over fifty miles an hour then maybe we'd get there sooner," Declan says petulantly, and _that_ is just _not_ on.

"Dude! Not cool!" Stiles protests. "You could always run home man, stage your own little four legged wolfy marathon, you should get there by next week."

"And who's gonna make me, huh, you?"

"Fuck you, you know nothing about me, I've done things you've never even—"

"Shut up, both of you!" Laura shouts. The Jeep descends into silence, but that doesn't stop Stiles from glaring whenever he can take his eyes off the road for more than a second. "God, you two are not going to fool anyone, this is the worst plan anyone has ever planned."

"Told you," Stiles mutters.

"Guys, I'm serious. Wolfgang is gonna be here tomorrow to meet with us, he's flying down tonight."

Stiles can barely hold back a snicker, because _Wolfgang_. Stiles doesn't care how crazy powerful the Wirth pack is supposed to be, who the fuck names their little werewolf baby _Wolfgang_? (He's never ever _ever_ getting over it.)

"This is important," Laura continues, "there could already be people tailing you. I know how the Wirth alpha works, she's smart and she's dangerous, and she's probably sent out a scout team. Try to look at least a little loving." She pauses. "Or at least just try not to rip each other's heads off before you even reach Beacon Count— Sorry, hold on, I got a message, give me a—" Laura's voice fades out, and Stiles waits impatiently for her to come back, swatting Declan's hand away when he reaches for the radio. "Okay, back. It was just Malia. She thinks this idea is stupid too, fyi." 

"Hey, you speak to Malia? She won't even give me her number!" Stiles protests. To be fair, when Stiles had had her last number all he'd really done was send her drunk texts and memes, so he's honestly not all that surprised. They broke up amicably, but not being together anymore meant that Malia had even less reasons to put up with his shit. So she didn't.

"I'm the alpha," Laura says simply. Stiles wishes for the umpteenth time that everyone would pay attention to the moratorium he put on that particular in-joke two years ago.

"She's the one at Humboldt right?" Declan interrupts, with a useless comment as per usual. "That's where I went to college."

"She's on the rowing team," Laura says proudly. "And she's _amazing_ , she even got a scholarship."

"Yeah, well I... only lasted six months there." He shrugs, but still somehow sounds self-satisfied? Stiles is pretty sure that's not really something to be boasting about.

"What about the rest of the pack?" Stiles asks, choosing to ignore Declan completely. "Don't they have unsolicited opinions regarding this issue? They've been suspiciously quiet, it's making me very uncomfortable."

Laura snickers. "Last I heard, Erica and Boyd are somewhere in the Australian outback with spotty service and Lydia's still incommunicado doing some top secret thing for whatever military service has begged for her services this week. Malia, Isaac and Allison were the only ones coming back to Beacon Hills for Christmas, and I told them to stay away until we get this sorted. There's no sense complicating everything further with more bodies."

"What about Scott? Does he have to be there for the meeting?"

"As co-alphas we both have to be there, this meeting's supposed to be kind of semi-formal-ish, I think? Which means all available high-ranking members of the pack. Anyway, he said he and Kira will be in tomorrow morning."

"And Derek, will he be there?" Stiles asks, trying to sound casual and not like he's missing him or anything. Because of Declan and finals, Stiles and Derek had barely spoken while Derek was around, and then he'd gone back to Beacon Hills early, without even saying goodbye. One morning Stiles had just woken up and the bedding on the couch had been neatly folded and stacked on one of the cushions, a voicemail left on Stiles' phone explaining that he had to go back to Beacon Hills to help Laura with something, and Stiles hasn't heard from him since. He hasn't contacted Derek either, and Derek knew he was studying, so it's probably not big of a deal, but.

Still.

"I'm thinking me and Scott to start off with, then you and Declan will arrive and do your thang, and then hopefully you'll seem so in love that Wolfgang will just give up and go home. That's not too much to ask for, right?" she asks wistfully. "A quick, easy ending?"

Stiles and Declan exchange dubious glances. Stiles thinks it's the first thing they've ever agreed on.

+

The rest of the four-hour drive back to Beacon Hills goes better than Stiles expected. They stay civilised. They go over the backstory they created for themselves, but since everyone agreed that it'd be easier to say they just met recently, there's not much to talk about. They bicker about the radio. The knots in Stiles' stomach actually unwind enough for him to whine about wanting snacks, so they stop and get some. Declan picks at his (unpeeled, gross) carrot sticks, Stiles drinks his entire Big Gulp in eleven minutes, and then Declan dares him to eat all his jelly beans too. Stiles only gets through half the packet before he has stop off at at the next gas station to use the bathroom. They snark some more. Stiles finds a scarf Isaac sent him from Paris (with a rhinestone-encrusted Eiffel Tower at one end and neon pink hearts and Comic Sans font proclaiming I HEART PARIS at the other, obviously his latest 'fuck you' to Stiles because Scott got fancy cologne) and makes Declan wear it (ostensibly for the scent factor, but really because Stiles enjoys how much more of an asshole he looks in it). Stiles talks a little about college, Declan enjoys namedropping some celebrities he's worked with and smirks when Stiles calls bullshit.

All in all, it isn't the most hellish car trip—at least not until they reach the Beacon Hills city limits and the impending-vomit feeling comes back again.

"So, fake dating," he says, totally casually.  "I'm really doing this. Tricking another werewolf from a powerful pack. For you. Who I don't even know."

"You're really doing this," Declan confirms. He turns to Stiles when they stop at a red light, and Stiles reluctantly faces him too. He seems really serious suddenly, and he looks Stiles directly in the eyes. "Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles blinks. "Uh… yeah. It's cool man, I… yeah."

"Good," Declan says, abruptly turning back to face front.

Stiles stares at him. What is _with_ this guy?

"Light's green," Declan points out eventually.

Stiles startles back into motion, and they're both quiet on the short ride into the city centre.

+

Their first stop is Hale Hardware.

Technically, Hale Hardware has been around since they were all kids. Stiles remembers going into the store with his mom when she would buy things for her garden, remembers seeing the Hale kids working there after school or on holidays. When their parents had died and the Hale heirs had ended up scattered all over the country, Hale Hardware had shut down. And despite Derek and Laura returning earlier, it had taken until Stiles' senior year, once everything had settled a bit, for them to reopen the shop. Now Laura runs the day to day stuff and deals with customers while Derek handles the heavy lifting and does deliveries (which works out well for both of them, considering Derek's general disposition and the fact that Laura's way too lazy to spend too long lifting anything). 

When Cora had joined them again she'd started making speciality furniture for customers, something she apparently learned in South America. They're beautiful wooden pieces, with carvings and cut outs and a whole lot of awesome shit that Stiles' high school woodshop teacher could only dream of being capable of.

It's very much a family affair, and when the rest of the pack is home for the holidays they all hang out in the break room. Laura pretends to be annoyed about it but everyone knows she secretly loves it, because they all do.

Now that he's thinking about it, Stiles is pretty sure that one of the reasons Derek is so angry with Declan is because abandoning Beacon Hills also meant abandoning this one last remnant they have of their parents. Considering Derek's feelings about pack and family, that would have been enough to hold such a grudge against him, no matter what else he did or didn't do.

Stiles pulls in to the lot and parks in the employee parking like he always does, no matter how many times Laura tells him off about it, and takes a deep breath in an attempt to centre himself.

"So… do we hold hands or what?" he asks.

Declan shrugs but comes to open the door for Stiles anyway. He extends a hand and Stiles takes it, hopping out, and there's an uncomfortable moment where they can't decide whether to cup hands or link fingers. They end up with linked fingers, and it's weird because even though Declan's hands are practically the same size as Stiles', his fingers are much thicker, hands much warmer and drier.

Stiles wonders if this is what it's like holding hands with Derek, and then dismisses the thought immediately when he glances up to see Derek himself standing awkwardly in front of them, looking anywhere but at Stiles and Declan.

"Hey man," Stiles says, waving his free hand. "We get our own greeting party?"

"Laura says to come straight through the back," Derek says gruffly, turning abruptly and striding around the side of the building. Stiles hurries after him, dragging Declan behind him.

"That Cora's new work room?" he asks, nodding to a new extension at the back of the Hale Hardware building, running down the side of the fence.

"Said she needed to be as far away from the customers as possible. Apparently they corrupt the creative process," Derek says, almost-smiling. "It's soundproofed, too."

"Will she show me any of her new stuff? I saw some awesome photos on Facebook but it always looks better in person."

"She's been pretty secretive lately. I get the feeling she's making Christmas presents."

"Surely the Ice Queen's skills are far too superior to waste on gifts for humble peasants such as we?"

Declan snickers from behind him and Stiles blinks, because even though they're still holding hands, he'd kind of forgotten Declan was there. Whoops. "Cora says you're more of a queen than she'll ever be."

"I hope she knows that's not an insult," Stiles says sweetly and barrels into the building after Derek, gladly letting go of Declan's hand when Derek shoves him into the tiny break room. "Yo Laura, Imma need a 1/16 gauge wrench, a fourteen yard garden hose, aaaaaand some aphid spray," he calls as he enters.

"Um, you've never even been in a garden, and Imma need you to bite me," she says cheerfully. She jumps up from her seat at the fold-out table she uses as a desk and yanks him into a smothering hug.

"I thought that was your speciality?" Stiles grins when she pulls back, but that quickly turns to a scowl when she reaches out to vigorously ruffle his hair. "Get off!"

Laura turns to Declan, who has just finished greeting Cora. They're all kind of careful with each other—Derek still hasn't acknowledged his long-lost brother yet, assuming he even _will_ —and Declan stops to look her in the eye for a few seconds before dropping his eyes and offering himself up for a hug. Laura pulls him in, albeit much less vigorously than she had with Stiles. "Good to see you."

"Lies," Declan says, but he's smiling a little. They exchange a few more words but Stiles doesn't hear them because in the next second Cora's on him, shoving him into a headlock and giving him a noogie.

"Wow I am so happy about the Hales and their way of expressing emotion," Stiles grits out, not even trying to squirm out of Cora's firm hold. It'll only be to his detriment. He knows from experience. "Cora you're kind of killing me now, breathing, remember that, that's a thing."

He's about to do something drastic, like poke Cora in the ticklish spot on her ribs, but he's saved by Derek, who drags Stiles away by force and settles him down beside him. Derek's fingers carefully tug his collar back into place. Stiles tries not to let it affect him.

"Thanks," Stiles murmurs. Derek nods, holding his gaze for a few seconds before they both tune back into what Declan and Laura are talking about.

"...changed so much," Declan is saying, poking his head out of the other door, peering into the store proper. "It's huge!" He rounds over to a stack of tiles sitting by Laura's table, reaches out to touch them, and all three other Hales suddenly burst into action, yelling "No!" as Cora yanks him away.

Stiles shakes his head disbelievingly. "Wow, you guys aren't even that vehement about _me_."

"He's terrible with hardware," Derek growls, glaring.

"He's banned from all things handy," Laura says.

"He once broke our bathtub just by looking at it," Cora chimes in, before Stiles can come up with a good enough 'handy' quip. "And the only thing he ever made in woodshop was half a spice rack."

"It's true," Declan says, unapologetic as usual. "Pretty sure I'm cursed."

"Hey now, there was that truly inspired photo shoot with the tool belt," Stiles says unthinkingly. And when everyone turns to stare at him, he plays back what he just said.

_Wow_ , yeah _now_ he can come up with the quips. Fantastic.

Declan grins smugly. "A fan, I see."

Okay, and how does Stiles even begin to explain that yeah, he maybe devoted a few hours to looking up Declan's work online, but he actually spent the whole time thinking about someone else? Someone else who looks just like… looks exactly the… Anyway. "Not of you!" he says, unconvincing even to his own ears. "I just… like… underwear…" he finishes lamely.

There's silence. Thankfully, no-one even bothers trying to tackle that.

Laura turns to Declan. "Are you going straight to Derek's now?" she asks, and Stiles could kiss her. "We figured that's the best place for you guys to stay while we deal with this bullshit."

Derek doesn't seem too happy about that when Stiles glances at him, but they've obviously been through it already and he just crosses his arms and glowers. Stiles opens his mouth to tell Laura that his dad's been sending him texts demanding Stiles' presence, but Declan jumps in first.

"Nah, we're gonna go on a date."

"Huh?" Stiles asks, the same time as Derek says, "What?"

Declan shrugs. "You said Wolfgang's alpha's probably sent some drones out to check up on us, we need to be thorough."

It makes sense, it really does, but the idea of spending any more time with Declan today is one hundred percent unappetising. "But I need to see my dad," he protests lamely.

"We'll go there first then, no big," Declan says.

"Thanks man, that's really kind of you," Stiles says.

Declan smiles magnanimously. "No problem, Stiles."

Stiles wonders if Declan is the only Hale in history to not understand sarcasm, or if this a one-off, nature vs nurture kind of thing.

Whatever it is, it makes him very uncomfortable.

+

"That's not Derek," Stiles' dad says suspiciously, as soon as Stiles and Declan step into reception. "Stiles, you didn't bring a dangerous supernatural creature into the Sheriff's office, did you?"

Stiles squints at him. "Dad, I'm pretty much always bringing dangerous supernatural creatures into your office, it's tradition."

"Of course, then let me rephrase. Stiles, are you bringing a _new_ dangerous supernatural creature into my office?"

"Technically… yes. But also… no."

His dad sighs. "Stiles," he says sternly, "is that or is that not a kanima?"

"Oh my god, why is everything always kanimas with you, no it's not a kanima, it's Derek's twin. Sometimes the hoof beats really are just horses, Dad."

"But the claw wounds are never just mountain lions," his dad says, although he relaxes and turns to Declan. "So, the other Hale son returns. It's Declan, right?"

Stiles stares at his dad. "How do you remember these things?"

His dad tries to look all casual-like, but Stiles sees that little puff of the chest he's got going on. Stiles sees it all. "I'm the Sheriff, son. It's kind of my speciality." He holds out a hand to Declan, who has to let go of Stiles' in order to shake it. His dad raises his eyebrows. "Okay, so the reason you were holding hands is because…"

Stiles bites back a curse and shoves his hands in his pockets. "It wasn't really _hand holding_ , more like palm touching to insinuate that we feel certain romantic feelings about each other that we absolutely do not actually feel?"

His dad stares at him, before his eyes slide over to Declan and his shoulders droop again. "You two better step into my office." He guides Declan in, but stops Stiles at the threshold to pull him into a hug. Stiles clings back gratefully. "Not even home for two hours and you're already in trouble."

"Technically, that applies a timeframe to this issue that grossly underestimates the actual events involved. Also, this is nowhere within the realm of my fault. I feel that to attribute anything to me is doing me a gross injustice."

His dad sighs. "I think I'll be the judge of that, kid."

+

His dad judges them harshly.

His dad is right.

His dad is also the best, because he still sends Stiles and Declan on their 'date' with an offer of his support if they need it.

Stiles fucking loves his dad.

+

It's probably the worst date in the history of all dates.

It's like Declan forgets everything they'd talked about earlier in the day, all his seriousness and gratitude and determination to make things up to everyone, and he pays Stiles exactly zero attention. Once they get to the terrible, overpriced restaurant (Stiles had suggested Mexican, but according to Declan Mexican food is the grossest cuisine of all time, so whatever) a (tall, blond, admittedly pretty hot) waitress catches Declan's attention, and he spends the majority of what is supposed to be a loving date with Stiles flirting with her instead. Stiles has to keep reminding him what they're doing, kicking him under the table (which is fun, at least) and stroking his hands and face 'lovingly' (which is not so much) to keep his attention. It probably wouldn't be so bad if there weren't at least three of Wolfgang's minions (they are _so bad_ at stealth, one of them actually has a newspaper with eyeholes cut into it) watching them, but as it is Declan really seems to be doing his best to fuck everything up. Again.

It only gets worse(!) when Declan glances around furtively and, before Stiles realises what he's doing, adds wolfsbane powder to his drink and then proceeds to get really wasted. He's a loud, obnoxious drunk, and Stiles is pretty sure that if they stay for too long they're gonna get thrown out. Again.

Add to that Stiles not being able to drink because he's driving, Declan needing help going to the bathroom, Stiles getting two tails on the way back to Derek's that he can't even try to shake, and Declan puking in the Jeep, and Stiles is just about ready to kill Declan himself.

Again.

+

When they _finally_ get back to the loft (renovated since the last time Stiles was here, less grimy hideout and more comfortable man cave now, it's nice), Derek is nowhere to be found on the first level. He must be asleep in his bedroom upstairs, and Stiles tries to be as quiet as he can so as not to wake him up. Declan doesn't do the same. He heaves the front door open with a slam, and then he's bursting into the kitchen and rifling through the cupboards, slamming more doors and muttering about pie.

Stiles could cry. Considering his day—all the driving he did from campus, all the prepping he did on the plan, all the time spent looking after the prime fuck up that is Declan Hale—he's exhausted and all he wants to do is sleep and he collapses at the waist across the breakfast bar, groaning in an effort not to weep.

Unfortunately, this is when Declan seems to remember he exists.

"Hey so Stiles," he says lowly, appearing suddenly at his side,  "if you're really tired we could always take this to my bedroom."

Stiles squints one eye open, because there's no way he's... But he's looking pretty earnest, staring down at Stiles with big eyes (they're not as pretty as Derek's though, no way), fingers drifting closer to the back of Stiles' neck.

Stiles jerks upright and backs away, gesturing to Derek's large couch and the blankets folded neatly over the back of it. "Wow pal, that offer's really swell of you but I'll seriously be fine out here, no problems. I love couches and couches love me, we're tight, lounge room furniture and I, we're bros, we go way back. So thanks but no thanks, I'm all good out here, man."

Declan blinks. He tilts his head, looking like he's still trying to process what Stiles said, before he just visibly gives up and nods, tripping his way up the stairs to the guest bedroom without another word.

Thank. Fuck.

Stiles collapses on to the couch—which actually feels pretty comfy, chalk that up as the _one_ good thing to happen to him today.

He just has to remind himself of his priorities, here. Declan is a fucking asshole, yeah, but he's not doing this for Declan, he's doing this for Der— for the Hales, as a whole. As his pack members, as his friends, he's doing it for _them_.

He just has to remember that.

+

Stiles has slept at Derek's loft before. Lots of times. Heaps of times. 

It's just, maybe the other times had been sleepovers with the whole pack, rowdy affairs with laughter and chatter and friends. They hadn't involved Derek and his stupid twin upstairs in actual beds, and Stiles down in the massive dark echoey living space, all alone. The couch actually turns out to be a very satisfactory substitute for a bed, and he's definitely warm enough with the verging on four _hundred_ blankets Derek supplied him with, but.

He can't sleep.

He flings himself over onto his back. Hooks a leg over the back of the couch. Wiggles around onto his stomach again. Jams his arm under his neck. Lets his head dangle off the cushion.

Nothing.

He curses and gives up, heaving himself over to flop and stare listlessly into the dark. The loft is creepily still around him. The faint sound of snoring drifts down from upstairs (must be Declan, Derek doesn't snore), but other than that, nothing. No traffic, no wildlife, no irresponsible students stumbling home drunk, no sounds from outside at all. It's weird. He hadn't realised how comforting he found his shitty apartment back at school—he hadn't even realised his shitty apartment _could_ be found comforting.

Maybe he should turn on the TV. But even on low volume the sound will probably be enough to wake Derek up, so he decides against it. Sometimes he peruses the bestiary on his iPad if he can't sleep, has woken up on many a morning with his face squashed into the screen, but he can't even remember which bag he packed it in. 

His backpack's slung over one of the stools at the breakfast bar, so he pads into the kitchen and carefully unzips it. At first he tries to just quietly search through it, but it quickly becomes clear that his usual style of 'shove everything in until it fits' does not lend itself to that kind of approach so he just tips it up over the counter. Everything spews out further than he'd planned, pens and notebooks clattering onto the floor, and he cringes and freezes, waiting. Sure enough, there's movement on the stairs and Derek appears, shirtless (why god why) and in sweatpants (thank you god).

"Can't sleep?" Derek asks softly. Stiles shakes his head. Derek pauses at the other end of the breakfast bar, looking at the mess all over the counter and raising his eyebrows.

"I'm cleaning it up!" Stiles protests, already shoving stuff back in his bag.

But Derek just shrugs and reaches over, lifts up a fat textbook and grabs the packet of jellybeans left over from the drive from SSU. He peers inside the bag, shaking it and then reaching in to pull out a handful, popping like three black ones into his mouth at once. Stiles pulls a face but lets him at it. He doesn't want to see a jellybean again for at least ten years.  "Bad date?" Derek asks, settling against the sink, directly opposite Stiles.

Stiles groans. "The worst, oh my god, your brother is such a dick, like no wonder you don't talk to him anymore, seriously!"

Derek frowns. "That bad?"

"Not… I mean, he didn't try and kill me, so that's already one up on the hunter last year, right?" Stiles bends to pick up the last of his crap on the floor, chasing an errant red pen as it slips across the tiles. "He just… wasn't the most attentive. I had to keep getting him back on task—yeah, _me_ , _I_ had to tell someone to focus! It was like being back in high school, when Scott loved to live in the let's-ignore-how-serious-this-very-serious-issue-is phase. It's exhausting."

"And now you can't sleep."

Stiles straightens and gestures to himself expansively, and Derek knows him well enough to interpret it as the 'well obviously not because everything is shitty and terrible and my brain won't stop' he meant it as.

They stand in silence for a few moments. Derek watches him, and Stiles pretends not to watch Derek back, watch the way his body moves, how his arms stretch and contract when he grabs another jellybean, how his biceps brush against his nipples and his hips shimmy against the edge of the counter. He sighs, drums his fingers on his thigh. He wants to break the quiet again, wants to ask Derek questions. He wants to know more about Derek and Declan's relationship. He's been burning to know ever since he discovered Declan's existence, because suddenly there's this whole part of Derek's life he knows nothing about, and if there's one thing that's real it's his need to know as much as he can about Derek Hale. Declan's testiness about it makes him unsure if he should bring it up, but he also knows that Derek doesn't do anything if he doesn't want to—he has no qualms about shutting Stiles down, even though any threats of bodily harm lost all effect years ago.

Stiles clears his throat and decides to just go for it. "So, what is it with you and Declan, anyway? How come you never told us about him?"

Derek shifts around a bit, gauging him. Stiles tries to look innocent, and his scent must pass because Derek says, "I don't speak to him anymore."

Yeah, he's an idiot if he thinks he can leave it there. Stiles would not be Stiles if he didn't push everything as far as he could. "Yeah, I gathered that. But why?"

He huffs. "Because. Because I said so."

"Yeah okay big guy, don't worry about me, I'm just caught up in all your wolfy bullshit again, no need to share any deets with Stiles." It's a calculated move on his part, attempting to play on Derek's guilt. Stiles should probably feel bad, and is just about to maybe, but surprisingly Derek goes with it, shifting uncomfortably and speaking anyway.

"We had a disagreement. He left. Laura and Cora still talk to him. I don't."

"Dude, he's your _twin_. Don't you feel like a cosmic bond with him or whatever? Isn't your heart like crying out for him?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "My life is not a Sweet Valley High novel, Stiles."

Stiles has no idea what that means. He tries not to let on, tilting his head and nodding like he's totally up with Derek's obscure references. "Yeah, but like you guys have the pack bond, right? It makes sense that it'd be even stronger with twins. If it happens in humans, why not with werewolves?"

"Maybe when we were younger." Derek scrunches up the empty jelly bean packet and crosses his arms. "But puberty changed a lot of things."

Stiles snorts. "I feel that."

There's a pause, before Derek finally admits, "Sometimes I think I can sense his pain. But it's been years since I've seen him and he was miles away, it was just an occasional dull ache."

"And you couldn't tell when he moved closer?"

"If I'd known he was at that restaurant I probably wouldn't have come."

"Not even to be my knight in shining armour? That's harsh, dude."

"Stiles, you are the last person who needs a knight in shining armour. You _are_ the knight in shining armour, most of the time."

Stiles nods. "So true." Derek shakes his head, but Stiles can't help being so awesome, it's in his genes. "What'd he do to make you so mad, anyway? He break your train set? Eat the last deer leg?"

Derek shifts around again, and when he continues he's quiet, contemplative. "I was never a contender for alpha. We all knew that growing up. Not me, not Cora. But Declan and Laura, they both showed signs. Mom was grooming both of them for it, for the alpha power, to protect Beacon Hills, to run the family business, but Declan didn't want any of it. He rejected her, he rejected all of us, and then he left."

"Dude. It's really hard to force that kind of responsibility on someone," Stiles says gently. Like obviously members of the royal family are pretty fucked, but from everything Stiles has seen, families pushing their kids into things never turns out well. "Wasn't the fact that he didn't want it kinda a sign that he shouldn't have had it?"

Derek shakes his head but he doesn't get too defensive, so knowing Derek he's probably thought through all of this a million times. "Mom didn't see it that way. She always thought he was gonna come back. And then Kate killed my family."

"And Laura ended up the alpha," Stiles supplies. "So Declan never came back?"

Derek considers this. "He sent a card after Peter died," he admits. "It had a picture of a sad puppy on it."

Stiles snorts. "He literally used the puppy dog eyes on you? That's not playing fair."

"I don't think he knows what that means."

Stiles nods slowly. He's not going to lie, he's trying to come up with ways to extend the conversation—not for nefarious reasons (for once), but because he just wants to keep talking with Derek. Derek's much better about sharing than he ever was, but he's still more likely to go to his immediate family if he needs help, and Stiles pretty much treasures any occasion Derek comes to him. Pathetic, yes, but he's made his peace with it. Mostly. "Did you ever feel jealous? Wish you were on the short list for alpha stardom?"

"I think... I think I would have been too confused to be alpha. The power... I probably would have concentrated on the wrong parts of it. Laura never lets it get to her head. She plans, she looks after everyone, she knows how to focus on the right things to get the job done. She's the second most annoying person I know," he glances at Stiles, and Stiles can't help but puff up with pride at that, because _fuck yeah_ , he's worked hard at cultivating those skills, "but she's the alpha for a reason."

"And she's okay with Declan frolicking in far off lands? Doesn't that technically make him an omega?"

"Probably. What is she supposed to do, though? She can't force him to stay here, not when my mom couldn't." Derek shrugs. "But he's still family. He's still pack. No matter how much I wanna rip his throat out."

"This is what I'm saying though," Stiles says, "like if you guys keep coming to his rescue whenever he wants, he'll never learn. Maybe we shouldn't go through with tomorrow."

"And you're not being at all self-serving by arguing this point, right?" Derek says dryly.

"Totally not— okay yeah, I just, I mean I can't wait until this is over. Are you absolutely sure we can't just take the tough love approach? He's a big boy, I'm sure he'll land on his feet, they always do, these rascally kids."

"I know Declan. He doesn't ask for help. He wouldn't unless he really needed it. And…" Derek pauses, frowns, looks down at his feet. "I know my mom would've wanted this."

Wow. What can Stiles even say to that. Like, play the mom card to the mom-less kid, guaranteed win, good one Derek.

Quiet descends for only a few seconds before Stiles slaps his palms against his thighs and says, fake-brightly, "Well this conversation has consisted of a shocking number of syllables for you, I'm feeling sufficiently weirded out now."

Derek nods. "Declan always was more talkative."

"Doesn't mean he had anything of value to say. As he proved on the worst date in history," Stiles points out, and shivers. "Here's to that shit never happening ever ever again in the history of ever, amen." Stiles pulls a face, and when he looks back up at Derek it's to see him holding out a hand. "What?" he asks dumbly.

"You won't be able to sleep down here, we both know you won't. Come on." Derek jerks his head towards the staircase.

Stiles takes his hand.

+

Their bed sharing turns out to be frustratingly chaste. At first Stiles is worried about kicking Derek in the face for the rest of the night, but he must have upgraded his bed to a California king or something because there is probably still enough room for another three people between them. They don't even get to wake up tangled together and awkward, because when Stiles finally emerges from his (really weird) dream (there were suitcases raining down from the sky and he was swinging through his grandmother's house like Spiderman and then Oprah turned up and it was all just very strange, okay), Derek is already up.

Stiles rubs his eyes, attempting to pry them open fully. He stares at the ceiling.

Today is the day.

And yeah, he'll admit it—he's nervous. Because even though he still finds it very difficult to take anyone with the name _Wolfgang_ very seriously, he now knows enough about the Wirth pack to realise that they have to be very careful. He's not scared, but he's ready to be, just in case everything goes badly.

But the worst thing about all of this, really, the thing that's throwing him most off his game, is the fake dating bit. It's so… it'd be uncomfortable to do it with anyone who wasn't one of his close friends, but doing it with someone who talks and thinks like a stranger but _looks_ like Derek, that's kind of messing with him.

He placates himself with the fact that it will all be over by tomorrow. By this evening, even. Stiles and Declan will break Wolfgang's heart (but nicely, in a way that won't start a pack war), Wolfgang will give up and go back to New York, the rest of the Hale pack will finally be able to come home and they'll all be able to go back to their usual Winter break schedule. Everything will be fine, he just has to last another twelve hours. It's a challenge, but Stiles has dealt with rabid werewolves, mass-murdering darachs, alpha packs, angry Japanese fox spirits and psychopathic hunters before. He can definitely deal with this.

+

What it turns out he _can't_ deal with is padding downstairs to find Derek and Declan in some kind of shirtless push up competition, sweating and grunting as they try to outdo each other and fuck this is the height of unfairness, Stiles _just woke up_.

He retreats to the kitchen and takes comfort in the coffee maker.

+

There's an unfamiliar car parked in front of Laura and Cora's house when Stiles pulls up outside. It's super pretentious, a silver luxury BMW, and Stiles hates both it and its owner already.

"Okay?" Derek asks from the back seat. Stiles turns to him and opens his mouth but stops abruptly when Derek taps his ear and then gestures to the house.

He nods instead. "Always. How about you, bae?" he asks Declan, who looks a fascinating combination of amused and disgusted.

"I'll never turn down the chance to to announce our love, _bae_ ," he says winningly, even darting in to plant a kiss on Stiles' forehead.

Derek rolls his eyes. 

Stiles stifles a hysterical laugh. 

They're really doing this, they're really… fuck.

Okay. Fine. Good.

He puffs out a breath and drops out of the Jeep, locking the door and rolling his shoulders. He can do this, he's a _great_ liar, and that's basically what acting is. And okay so maybe he used to suck at lying, but he's improved with exposure to werewolves, plus he was in one of Kira's YouTube videos which has like three thousand views now. (Granted, it was a martial arts instruction video and he played an 'assailant' and Kira _literally_ kicked his ass and he couldn't sit down comfortably for a week after, but still.)

One of the Hales stops beside him and he glances over to see Derek waiting for him, eyebrows raised. Stiles nods at him, then makes his way through the yard (all dead, everything's dead, the garden is weed-laden and the porch is rotted and rickety, and privately Stiles thinks that the owners of the town's only hardware store should probably be setting the example with their own property—but it's not like he's ever gonna tell them that, he's not that crazy) to the front door.

He whacks the knocker against the wood loudly, three times, nodding at both Derek and Declan when they join him, grabbing Declan's hand in his own and holding on so tight Declan lets out a little grunt of pain.

Oh yeah. They're going to fucking _do this_.

+

The current theory is that it takes someone seven seconds to form their first full judgement about another person.

It takes Stiles two point two seconds.

Wolfgang is an asshole.

His car is assholish, the way he's perched on Laura's awesome armchair like it's going to infect him is assholish, his gigantic minion standing guard next to him is assholish, his fitted suit and shiny shoes are assholish, his slicked-back hair is assholish (also creepy, but slicked-back hair is always creepy), his overly-plucked eyebrows are assholish and his toothy, smarmy, almost-hot-but-not-quite grin is the most assholish of all.

"Gentlemen," he says smoothly, rising up and slinking over before Laura or Scott, aka the _alphas_ , can even introduce him. The gigantic minion follows skittishly, clutching a shiny leather suitcase and acting like he can't stand be more than a foot away from his evil boss at any time. "You certainly like to keep your guests waiting. But I suppose if I could make an exception for anyone, it would be for the Hale twins. How lucky I am to see you together again, I hear it's a rarity these days." He looks them both over, lingering on their faces, then on their crotches, then back on their faces.

Gross.

Wolfgang isn't paying any attention at all to Stiles because he seems to have decided he doesn't even exist, so Stiles feels safe in giving Scott the 'umm, wow!?!?' eyebrows over Declan's shoulder. Scott gives him a shrug-and-eye-roll combo in return but then he's elbowed in the side by Laura, which makes him jump to attention. It would be funny if there wasn't a crazy almost-alpha posturing in the middle of Laura's living room, and if Declan was actually doing something about it. But he's not, which means that as per fucking usual, it's all up to Stiles to get things in motion.

"Oh hey, Wolfgang right?" he says loudly, grinning widely, totally charming. He lets go of Declan's hand but doesn't hold his own out to shake, instead bringing it up to rest on Declan's neck, rubbing his thumb over his pulse point. "Declan mentioned you once. How's it going man?"

Wolfgang blinks, seeming a bit perplexed, as if he's only just registering Stiles presence at that very moment. "Hello," he says, tone clipped, lips pursed.

Stiles can't help feeling smug about it. He's _so_ nailing this. He turns to the minion, who he actually realises is one of the dudes that was surveilling him and Declan at the restaurant. "And you are?"

"He's irrelevant to these proceedings," Wolfgang cuts in. "I'm more interested in finding out about you." He smiles, teeth bared—human teeth, but it's a threat nonetheless. Stiles feels Derek tense at his back, but he knocks their feet together gently and Derek stays alert, but doesn't react any further.

"Oh, little old me?" Stiles says, pointing to himself with his free hand. This is where the lying to werewolves thing gets dangerous. He has to use generalisations and leading half-truths while avoiding direct statements and closed-ended questions at all times. Not easy, for someone with so little practice in thinking before he speaks. "I'm Stiles. I was out on a date with this beautiful man here last night." He slides his hand all the way around to cup Declan's cheek and squeezes. "Your Irrelevant Minion might have seen us, I certainly saw him. I give him negative five subtlety points." He waves to the Irrelevant Minion, who cringes and then leans forward to whisper something in Wolfgang's ear.

Wolfgang's face goes blank, and he turns to Declan. "Is this true?"

"Yes," Declan mutters, then repeats it, sounding much more sure this time because Stiles is tugging on his ear and digging in his barely-there fingernails. " _Yes_ it's true, Stiles and I are together."

Wolfgang stares at him, face a blank mask, eyes steadily turning blue, which is a really awesome sign. "Explain."

Stiles tilts his head, waiting for back up from Declan, but since Declan is the pathetic epitome of bark and no bite, there's nothing. At all. Dead silence. Fan _tas_ tic. He grits his teeth. "It's pretty recent—met through a mutual friend, realised we had a lot in common, and bam! I mean, how could I resist those kaleidoscope eyes and that jawline that could cut glass, am I right?"

He seems to consider it. "I'll concede that on this one occasion you're right. His looks are exemplary, even when compared with those of his own twin." Everyone chances a look at Derek, who's staring steadily at him, not seeming all that fussed, and Stiles has to really tamp down on the urge to disagree. "But his handsomeness isn't what drew me to him, and if that's all you're focused on then perhaps you two aren't as perfect for each other as you might think."

"Wolfgang, seriously, we're not together anymore," Declan says finally, frustratedly, and hey, he can actually feel emotions and even use his mouth to communicate them, who knew. "You need to drop this, for real."

"But we had a connection," Wolfgang says, mask finally slipping, and if it was anyone else, someone who had a more realistic ego and was less of an asshole, Stiles would say he was pleading. " _We_ were perfect together."

"Wolfgang," Laura says gently, stepping forward, "why don't you sit back down, we can talk about this, alpha to alpha."

"Look I'm sorry Wolfgang, but I've got Stiles now," Declan says, squeezing Stiles closer, so hard Stiles feels like their rib cages are grinding together, but whatever, what is 'love' if not a little pain.

"Yeah you do, come here bae," Stiles coos, and he leans in to go for it, he's gonna do it, he's gonna kiss Declan—

—but when Declan turns his face towards him all he can think is _Derek_ and he veers sideways, getting Declan's soft cheek and then rubbing their noses together, hoping to play it off as some kind of cute couple thing.

Thankfully, Declan goes along with it, rubbing back before turning to Wolfgang. 

Wolfgang, who is now smiling again, even letting out a little laugh.

What?

"Oh, lovers," Wolfgang says, shaking his head mockingly, and Stiles doesn't understand how they got back to this, he and Declan were winning weren't they? They were totally nailing this and everything was going awesome except for how it wasn't, oh god, they screwed it all up somehow, shit. "I'd leave you alone to live happily ever after, but quite honestly I don't believe any of you. Firstly, this… _boy_ is nowhere near Declan's type."

Okay, that's probably insulting—scratch that, definitely insulting, if the way Wolfgang looks at him in disgust is any indication. 

"Charming," Stiles mutters, but everyone ignores him again, what a shocker.

"And secondly," Wolfgang continues, "I know what you're like when you're in love. I know you're silly and happy and demonstrative and beautiful, lit up from the inside." He steps over, right into Declan's space, and rests a hand over Declan's heart. "I know, because that's what you were like with me."

Yeah, they're not nailing this. They are _shit_ at this, so shit, oh god. "Uhh…" Stiles looks desperately at Laura but she's no help, she just kind of gives a tiny eyebrow-tick, way more focused on the way Declan is looking back at Wolfgang, like he might even actually agree that Wolfgang has a point (and again, it would almost be sweet if _Stiles' life wasn't in danger just by standing next to him_ ).

"I know you still love me, and I'm not giving up, no matter what happens," Wolfgang continues quietly, intimately, stroking Declan's collarbone. Just as well Stiles had moved aside after the kiss, because otherwise he'd be caught in their embrace and this is awkward enough as it is. Wolfgang pulls back finally, stepping over to join Irrelevant Minion, who looks beyond relieved that they're within touching range again. Stiles seriously suspects Stockholm Syndrome.

Declan... Declan actually looks flustered, cheeks red, his hand even shaking a little when he leans over to grab Stiles', but he's shaking his head too, backing up towards the door, dragging Stiles with him. "No, Wolfgang, I told you, I— we— this is not— Stiles and I are together now, we're together, and I'm not with you, and I'm sorry, but that's just how it is, and we're done here now, right? Because Stiles and I have a date and we're leaving and I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is!"

And then he's dragging Stiles out of the house and over to the Jeep, digging in Stiles' pockets for the keys, opening the car up, bundling Stiles into the driver's seat. He practically vaults the car to get in the passenger side and Stiles has no idea what's happening but he pretty much runs on automatic now when it comes to anything involving adrenaline and cars, and he's driving away before he even processes what happened.


	3. Matchmaking

"What the fuck, man?" Stiles yells, once Declan gives him the signal that they're far enough away from the house.

"I'm sorry okay, it's not— I mean, like I knew he liked me, but I didn't realise he was so obsessed with me, I mean—"

"Okay focus _off_ how awesome you are for like one second, _please_ ," Stiles yells, gesturing wildly between them. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

"I don't know, I'm pretty sure he won't hurt you, not with all the pack politics— Probably not anyway, but I don't— This is not how things usually happen! I'm usually out by now, I leave, their attachment fades eventually, and everyone moves on, I don't understand what happened here!" Declan shakes his head rapidly, and Stiles would be fascinated by this further display of actual emotion from him if he wasn't so fucking _pissed off_.

"Um, in case you didn't realise, we are the least convincing couple in the history of all couples! Even in the face of your, well, admittedly _awesome face_ , I couldn't kiss you because I find your personality so abominable! How are two people so thoroughly repulsed by each other ever supposed to pretend to be in forever-love? This whole idea was ridiculous, we're all insane, this is so stupid! That's it, get out, I'm going back to college." He's well aware that he might be getting a little hysterical, so he yanks on the wheel and they lurch to a stop at a clearing on the side of the road. He rips off his seatbelt before he reaches over to open Declan's door and shoves at him to get him out. "Get the fuck out, go, do it, seriously man, I can't—"

And Declan does get out—or, more accurately, someone _hauls_ him out by his jacket and—

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," Stiles swears, fumbling with his own door handle, practically falling out of his seat in his haste. He stumbles around to the other side of the car, far enough away so that he won't get caught up in whatever's happening, but close enough to hopefully maybe distract whoever it is from _killing Derek's brother_. "Hey woah man, I don't like him either but I don't think you need to—"

And that's when he realises that it _is_ Derek. Derek is the one who has his claws and fangs out, crouching protectively between Stiles and Declan like Declan is some kind of terrifying threat to Stiles' safety.

"Derek, dude, what the fuck?" he yelps. "What the hell are you doing?"

Derek doesn't look at him, eyes never leaving Declan's face. "Leave it, Stiles."

"Ummmm," Stiles says, glancing from one wolfed out face to the other, "no, I don't think I will, because right now you are both acting like—"

"This was _not_ part of the deal," Derek says over him, but he seems to be directing it at Declan. "You said it would be over by today! You keep putting us in danger and that is unacceptable!"

"Woah dude, overreact much? _You_ asked me to do this!" Stiles points out, shoving Derek in the back.

Derek is unmoved, both physically and emotionally. Of course. "Stiles, _we_ asked for your help with the understanding that this would be simple, but obviously _we_ were not fully informed of all the facts."

"This is _not_ my fault!" Declan barks.

Derek scoffs. "It's never your fault, is it?"

"What am I supposed to do, Derek? Wolfgang wants more than I'm willing to give!"

"Which is the bare minimum right?"

"Fuck you Derek, not everyone— I need—"

"Right, need, like how you come back when you _need_ us, but not when we needed you?" Derek accuses, and Stiles sees the realisation dawn in Declan's eyes at the same time that he connects the dots himself. He should have known, should have recognised earlier that this is running much deeper for Derek, that he's barely been holding himself together. Derek may not have told him explicitly what was going on in his head, but Stiles knows him well enough by now that he usually doesn't have to, and now Stiles feels really shitty.

Declan only seems to get more angry. "Is that the real issue here? Derek, when the hell have you ever needed me? The three of you stick together, you always have!"

"Because _you left_! Over and over, you left, what we were supposed to do?"

"Respect my decision—"

"Like you respected mom's?"

Declan roars, and Stiles is taking his life into his own hands before he even realises it (again, shit, anyone'd think he'd _learn_ one day, seriously) and scampering between them, plastering his back to Derek's front and making Declan pull up short in his charge at Derek.

"Stiles!" they shout, both sounding about equally aggravated and concerned.

"No," Stiles snaps. "You two need to sort your shit out in a way that does not involve violence or fleeing the country! Stop being such dicks for fuck's sake, you guys are brothers, _twins_ , and for people who don't have much family left that is actually pretty fucking important!" Derek snarls and Stiles stamps on his foot. "Yeah, I said it, shut the fuck up," he says over his shoulder, before turning back to Declan. "And I'm not going along with this shitty plan anymore either. You need to talk to Wolfdick so you and he and everyone else you've involved in this stupid charade can get over it and move on, because this shit is dangerous to everyone's fucking health, mental and otherwise." By now Declan's calmer and Derek's much less tense behind him, he can feel it, so he lets go and backs towards the Jeep. "Just… sort your shit out, and don't call me until you do. I don't wanna hear from _either_ of you until all of this is over, because you're both driving me up the fucking wall. Have an _awesome_ time talking about your feelings."

He gives them two of the most sarcastic thumbs up he's ever given (which is a pretty big call), then he gets back into the Jeep and leaves, watching them become nothing more than two tiny specks in his rearview mirror before they disappear completely.

+

"My dad's working and Scott's with Kira and I need time out from your stupid brothers so I'm crashing here for a while," Stiles says, barging past Cora and into her workroom. Despite the fact that he was itching to see inside a day ago, he can barely be bothered surveying the space and only looks far enough to spot the couch she's arranged at the opposite end of the room to her equipment. He dives shoulders-first onto it and whimpers.

"If you shut up, then you can stay as long as you want," Cora says, letting the door slam shut behind him. "But I'm not going to entertain you, I'm working."

"Dude, I just want peace, I never wanted to do this stupid thing in the first place and now everything's fucked up so I'm sequestering myself away to wallow in my own failure." He burrows his head under a gigantic fluffy cushion, toeing off his shoes and attempting to relax a little. "On an unrelated note, this couch is almost as comfy as Derek's and I applaud your family's interior design choices," he says, muffled.

"Sometimes I crash here if I'm working on something," Cora says distractedly. "Which I'm doing right now. Remember, back to thirty seconds ago, when I told you to shut up?"

Stiles squirms an arm out and waves his middle finger in her direction but says nothing. He finds it comforting, being around Cora. The animosity to mask affection and the aggressiveness as a defense, that's practically the Hale Way, especially with Cora, but the distance she usually keeps between them is always dropped if either of them really needs it.

She moves around a bit, scraping something, clanging something else, and eventually Stiles can't contain his curiosity. He emerges from beneath the cushion, moving to cling around it instead like it's a giant body pillow, and watches Cora for a while. Her rhythmic movements are soothing as she sands some intricate cutouts in a coffee table by hand, carefully switching between different grits of sandpaper to smooth out the wood.

He must zone out a bit because when Cora next says his name he startles pretty badly and he has no idea how much time has passed, but one of his arms is asleep.

"Derek told me what happened earlier with Declan," she says, and Stiles blinks, shaking his head in an effort to clear it. He looks up to find her standing at the foot of the couch with a steaming coffee mug and raised eyebrows.

"Declan is a dick," Stiles mutters, levering himself to sit up, stretching and yawning. He makes eyes at Cora's mug but she's mean and vindictive and she takes a sip herself, smacking her lips pointedly. He glares. "All Hales are dicks."

"It's a legacy we are proud to uphold." She raises her mug as if toasting her ancestors before slurping noisily at it again.

"Ugh," Stiles says. "How is it that _Derek_ is nicer to me than you are?"

"Derek actually likes you," Cora says, rolling her eyes. "My brother has terrible taste, we all know this." She drops down next to him, shoving his legs over, and Stiles nearly flies off the couch but he's pretty sure he recovers convincingly, drawing his legs up underneath him. "When we talked he sounded worried about you. Have you told him where you are?"

Stiles sighs and picks at the hole in the toe of his sock. "I'm too busy sulking."

"He's a dick, but he's a dick that cares about you." She sounds serious but not scornful, which is a pretty big deal for Cora actually, and when Stiles looks up at her she's just watching him steadily. There's a hint of impatience in an arched eyebrow, but she otherwise seems pretty legit.

It's a bit weird, and Stiles feels uncomfortable, just like he always does on the rare occasions when Cora is nice(-ish) to him. "Despite his constant stream of slights against my intelligence, he doesn't actually believe I'm an idiot, he knows I'm okay."

Cora nods, and they sit quietly for a few moments. Stiles should probably actually go soon, but Cora is still sitting next to him, sipping from her mug, and she never voluntarily spends time with anyone without a reason, which means she must still have something to say. So he waits.

"Stiles," she says finally.

"Yes, Cora, my love?"

She ignores him, continuing, "I can't imagine that I'll ever be in the position to say this again, but I need to say this now, and you're just gonna sit there and take it. Got it?"

Stiles feels like he's not being overdramatic if he fears for his life a little bit. "Uh… ooookaaaay…"

"Good." Cora nods, then says, like it actually might be killing her to get the words out, "Thank you."

And… that's it. Stiles waits, but Cora's looking at him expectantly, like it's his turn to speak, and he really missed something in this conversation didn't he?

"…For what?"

She huffs. "For my brothers! They're idiots. They're stubborn and useless and I've been worried about them for years, Laura too, and now suddenly, because of _you_ , they're gonna be okay."

Stiles snorts. "Last time I saw them they were about to claw each other's internal organs out."

"They'll be okay," Cora says firmly, and she seems so sure that Stiles kind of has to let her have it. She probably knows their dynamic better than anyone except Laura, how can Stiles even consider arguing with her?

So he just says, "Well in that case, you're welcome."

And then they sit there in another awkward silence for a few moments.

"Okay now go away and bother someone else, I'm about to start on your Christmas present," Cora snaps, shoving him so he actually does fall off the couch this time, and thank god too because this was getting way too emotional for both of them.

Stiles presses his hands over his chest. "A gift from Cora Hale, be still my heart."

She smiles sweetly. "It's a dildo stand."

At this point, it wouldn't even be surprising if it was. "Make sure it has spots for at least," he does a quick tally in his head, "eleven."

"Get out."

+

 _Spending night at Scott's_ , Stiles texts Derek, just as he's taking the key out of the ignition in Scott's mom's driveway.

He waits a few seconds but he doesn't get anything back, and that's what he wanted anyway, so feeling shitty about it makes no sense and he refuses to indulge it. Stiles drags himself out of the car, doesn't bother to knock and pushes the door open, hearing noise coming from the living room. Scott's curled up on the couch with Kira, watching TV, and they both glance up when he enters the room, but neither of them seem surprised to see him.

"You look terrible," Scott says in greeting.

"Are you okay?" Kira asks, concerned, shooting Scott a reproachful look that he doesn't notice. "What happened?"

Stiles collapses onto a recliner and groans, curling up into himself. "I know one of the Hales would have told you everything by now, Kira. I'm too tired to even think about it, let alone talk about it. I don't wanna do anything except lay here and slowly fade into nothingness."

"That's a shame," Scott says casually, too casually, that's his terrible feigned casual, the I-know-something-you-don't attempt at casual that he's never been able to perfect in their entire fifteen-plus years of knowing each other.

Stiles pries one eye open to look at him. "Why?" he asks warily.

"Well, Kira and I were just about to watch—" And then, with dramatic flair only a True Alpha can truly harness, he unpauses the TV and the opening credits of the newest Star Wars start rolling.

"I hate you," Stiles says, manoeuvring his head around enough so that he can see the screen, because it's fucking _Star Wars_ , and no matter how many times he's seen it (seven, he's seen this one seven times since its release four months ago) he can never say no to another screening. 

"Sure you do, buddy," Scott says, patting Stiles' head, turning the volume up. "Sure you do."

+

When Stiles wakes up the next morning, he's well and truly sick of couches and everything hurts even more than it did yesterday. Even his eyes hurt, the light assaulting him as it streams in through the living room's cruelly wide open curtains, and he smashes his pillow back over his face, kind of wanting to weep a little bit.

He has to reiterate: this is _not_ how he wanted his winter break to play out.

When he can finally open his eyes enough to check his phone (such low battery, ugh, his charger is at Derek's and everyone in Scott's house owns an Android, _ugh_ ) he doesn't quite know what to expect, but from the rush of disappointment in his gut it's not to see there are no messages from Derek and that it's 2.33pm. He forces himself awkwardly into a sitting position, then lurches up to attend to the needs of his bladder before stumbling into the kitchen where Scott is making three disgusting-looking sandwiches.

"Enjoy," Scott says, sliding one in front of Stiles at the table and taking a giant bite out of his own.

Stiles moans gratefully and practically face plants into his plate. "Where's Kira?"

"Upstairs taking a shower. Which means that you now have thirty minutes to finish your food and get the hell outta here."

Stiles makes a wounded noise, looking up at Scott with half his sandwich dangling out of his mouth.

Scott is unimpressed. "Sorry bro, but my mom will be home from her shift in like two hours, and Kira and I had plans last night and you know I love you and I'm happy to help, but I _need_ to have time alone with my girlfriend, man," Scott says firmly. "You will do this for me and you will not complain, and you will stop being such a chickenshit and you will go back to Derek's and sort things out because you're being completely ridiculous. Comprendes?"

"I love how you think suddenly using exotic languages means I'll listen to you more," Stiles says, but he knows Scott's right. He doesn't quite understand himself why he's hiding out at Scott's, why he couldn't handle Declan's shit anymore. It felt like too much at the time, like he needed to get away, but now that he has he just feels stupid.

Scott grins. "Worked, didn't it?"

Stiles throws a mayo-covered pickle at him.

+

There's no one at home when Stiles gets back to Derek's, which means Stiles actually gets the time he needs to relax a little, settle back into his skin. He has a giant coffee and raids Derek's 'secret' chocolate stash he keeps for cheat days, follows that up with a long shower and the much-needed opportunity to rub one out. When he finally gets dressed and goes back downstairs like two hours later, he's feeling much better about things.

Which all fades, of course, when he sees Declan coming through the front door, kicking off his shoes and ambling into the kitchen. Stiles crosses the room warily, heading for his phone where it's charging next to the microwave, hoping to get through this without any altercations, but when he brushes past Declan all is lost.

"Jerked it in the shower, huh? Luxury treatment or what," Declan snarks, waggling his eyebrows and making jerk off motions with his hands and just like that, everything Stiles has done to calm down just dissipates and he really truly just _cannot believe this guy_.

"Wow, okay, really? _Really_? How the fuck are those your first words to me? " Stiles yells. He throws his arms up into the air. "You are just so fucking— Every time I think there might be some hope for you you go and prove me wrong all over again! What the hell are you thinking, dude?"

Declan swallows audibly and although he has the decency to look a little abashed, he doesn't apologise or say anything further, and that's it for Stiles. He shakes his head and rips his charger out of the wall, more than ready to storm out all over again.

"Wait," Declan blurts, and Stiles turns back slowly to see him cross his arms defensively and lean against the fridge. "I just wanted— I mean— Just, you were right, okay? I'm sorry. We were being dicks, we've been dicks to each other for years. I guess it was just easy to fall back into it and hard to think about _why_."

Stiles nods. "I get that," he says. If anyone gets that, it's him. "But that doesn't mean you can't at least _try_ to fix things."

"Rome wasn't built in a day," he says dryly. "But… maybe. At some point. We talked a bit, at least, after you left, and he programmed my number into his phone. And I'm gonna stick around for a while. Have Christmas with my family." He finally looks up, more vulnerable than he's ever let Stiles see him before. "I'm going to spend Christmas with my family, Stiles. Do you know how long it's been since I've done that?"

"Hopefully not long enough to forget that Cora expects each of her presents individually wrapped. Also, the turkey is always too dry because that's how Laura likes it, and Derek shouldn't be let anywhere near—"

"—the cherry pie, yeah, I remember," Declan says, and then he smiles, the first proper smile Stiles has ever witnessed from him. It's nice, beautiful even, but it somehow still doesn't compare at all to Stiles' carefully collected memories of Derek's smiles. 

Fucking _Derek_ , god. How does Stiles always end up back at Derek _every time_? He directs the conversation elsewhere before he can dwell too much on it. "So, what about Wolfgang?" he asks. "Please don't tell me I have to be subjected to that smug bitchface anymore more or I swear to god I'll—"

"Whoa, calm your tits, you're so violent, damn. He's gone, crisis averted, everything's fine. We're gonna meet up for New Years. Maybe try again? I don't know. We like each other, and the pack ties are important. It could be something, maybe."

Stiles briefly wonders what the point of it all was then, why they just hadn't had a conversation about it _weeks ago_ , before realising how much of a hypocrite that would make him. He's gone to far worse extremes just to try and avoid having an uncomfortable altercation before he was ready. "So no more flirting with me? Thank god. Sorry, but you are so not awesome at it."

"Oh, baby," Declan says, a slow grin rolling across his lips, "you didn't even really see me try."

Stiles grimaces and shivers in horror, making Declan snort in laughter. They descend into silence for a few awkward moments.

"Hey Stiles," Declan ventures finally, a little hesitantly.

"Hey Declan," Stiles responds, a little patronisingly.

Declan doesn't seem to pick up on Stiles' less than enthusiastic response. (How the hell has he even lasted this long in the world?) "I really do appreciate everything you've done—not just for me, for my whole family. I know they had it tough, and I know you were there for them. And considering what you did for me and you don't even know me, I know you are _always_ going to be there for them. Thank you for that."

"I don't need your thanks," Stiles says steadily. What is even _happening_ today, since when does _anyone_ in Beacon Hills say thank you, let alone two Hales in one day? Today is _the weirdest_. "And they'd be fine without me. But okay, I can see what you mean." He pauses. "We're all there for each other, man, we're pack."

"Right yeah, of course." Declan nods, and then, apropos of nothing, continues, "You should go talk to Derek. He wants you to."

Fucking _Hales_ , god. Stiles shakes his head. "I told him I didn't want to talk, I still don't. Maybe. Probably."

"Okay, but just—"

"Dude, it's not really your business, is it?" he says sharply.

Declan holds up his palms defensively. "Not at all, but I don't care. I just want you to think about it."

"Yeah, because I'm seriously going to take the advice of an absentee twin with a stalker boyfriend and severe commitment issues," Stiles says. "You weren't even speaking to Derek a few weeks ago."

"And that was a mistake," Declan admits, and that, more than anything, makes Stiles think that maybe Cora was right, and the Hales will be okay. "You're smarter than me, though. This isn't even his fault. You can't punish him for caring about you."

"Shut up and stop making sense," Stiles snaps. "You're such a dick."

Declan shrugs. "Everyone's gotta play to their skills."

+

Stiles spends the evening with his dad and tries not to think about stupid Hales and their stupid problems, because it's all too fucking _stupid_.

He gets a text from Derek at 8.47pm.

It says, _Cora's workroom, now_.

It's true, the stupid Hales certainly have a way with words.

Stiles considers it for a moment. It's probably not an emergency, because Derek always calls when it's an if-you-don't-do-what-I-say-right-now-then-we-all-die kind of scenario, so he isn't panicking, but he is curious. So far Derek's respected his wishes about not being contacted. What's changed now? Maybe something else happened with Declan. Then again, Derek never calls him out somewhere just to talk. If Derek needs something from Stiles, he sniffs him out—even that time in high school when Stiles had played Scott's shopping mule while he spent three hours perusing the perfume department, looking for the perfect present for Allison (he'd ended up buying her a hot air balloon ride instead. Stiles had ended up with a headache).

So maybe Derek's helping Cora with something of the non-crisis, non-panic stations variety? Or Cora's helping Derek with something? Whatever the case, Derek obviously knew the vague message would pique Stiles' interest, that asshole, and a few minutes later Stiles finds himself pulling on his sneakers and heading out to Hale Hardware.

There are still a few cars in the parking lot, all belonging to Hales, but Stiles bypasses the main building and heads out the back. Sure enough, the lights are in Cora's workroom, and when Stiles opens the door he's greeted with Derek's muscled back as he works on something at the bench, his hair and skin and tank top covered in sweat and fine wood shavings.

He's really, really hot. Fuck.

Derek whirls around at the sudden noise, no longer disguised by the soundproofing, and his eyes widen. "What… Stiles, what are you doing here?" He tries to kind of shuffle between Stiles and whatever he's working on but he's entirely unsuccessful because the thing is huge, some kind of frame that must be at least six feet long.

Then Derek's words register and Stiles frowns. "Dude, you told me to meet you here."

"What are you talking about?" Then a look of realisation passes over his face and he runs his hands over his pockets. "My phone's gone."

Well then. That explains it. "Declan or Laura?"

"Both, probably."

"Wow, your family only gets more and more terrifying." Stiles shifts awkwardly. "I can go..."

"Or you could... This is..." His eyebrows draw together, and he hunches uncomfortably, visibly drawing in on himself. "It's for you," he mutters, poking a finger at the frame. "If you... whatever, I don't know."

Stiles blinks. Derek is... Derek is making something for him? Like actually putting thought and effort into, time and energy into, a gift for _him_? Stiles knows Derek can be thoughtful and helpful but he's never seen Derek be so... dare he infer it, but _romantic_. He moves closer, runs his hand along one rough uneven edge of the frame. It's pretty basic, just four straight timber planks joined roughly at the corners, and while the notion is super sweet and awesome, the thing itself is not… it's not very... well, it's... "Derek," he breathes, "this is... really terrible, oh my god, what is it supposed to even _be_?"

Derek scowls. "It's going to be an evidence board," he says gruffly. "There's gonna be glass and..." He shakes his head. "Cora's been teaching me. I'm not very good."

Stiles strokes the wood some more, snatching his hand away when he feels a splinter dig into his fingertip. "Fuck, ow, you're telling me." He shoves his finger in his mouth, but he's being dramatic because there isn't even any blood.

"You okay?" Derek asks. He steps forward but then stops again, looking frustrated. "It was a surprise. A Christmas present. It was supposed to be nice."

Stiles can't help his noise of indignation—but it's on Derek's behalf, because this whole thing is really kinda mind-blowing.

"Dude are you kidding, this is awesome! No one's ever gone to this much effort to make something for me. I can't really… do anything with it right now because it's huge, oh my god, it's like the entire size of our apartment at SSU, but when I get back…" Stiles looks Derek directly in the eye, so he knows how serious he is about this. Derek holds his gaze, still looking embarrassed but also kind of… hopeful, maybe. It does things to Stiles' heart, shit. "When I finish my degree and move back to Beacon Hills," Stiles says clearly, "that board will be coming home with me. Until then, you'll have to take care of it. Okay?"

"It'll probably take me that long to finish it anyway," he says, but it's amusement that's colouring his voice. Then he clears his throat, shifting from foot to foot. Stiles is kind of torn between finding his discomfort endearing and distressing. "I… what about me?"

Stiles moves a little closer. "You?" He's pretty sure he knows what Derek's saying, but this is _Derek_ he's talking to. It pays to be explicit (hopefully in more ways than one, fuck _yeah_ ).

Derek looks startled, hunted, for a moment. He twists his head and neck, almost like he's gonna go all beta shift, and seems to steel himself for something before saying—perfectly, beautifully candidly—"Will _I_ be coming home with you?"

Stiles swallows. "Do you... _want_ to come home with me?"

"I already tried not wanting anything from you. I couldn't do it." His voice is steady. His gaze is sharp. He means it.

There's a dopey grin forming on Stiles' face, he can feel it, and he probably looks batshit crazy but he couldn't care less. He's within touching distance of Derek now, and he itches to reach out to him. "I can work with that."

"What does that mean?" Derek asks intently.

His grin widens. "It means I've downgraded my five year Derek Hale seduction plan to a five minute one." He finally presses their fronts together, sliding his hands to brace them against Derek's lower back. "And that aforementioned seduction plan does not only involve hella awesome sex, but also amazeballs romance too."

Stiles watches as Derek ducks his head, a soft little smile on his face when he looks back at Stiles. It's cute as hell. "Can the plan please also include less stupid internet speak?"

"You don't like my dirty talk? I was gonna do a whole thing with it, I was—"

But Derek is lifting him up, hooking Stiles' knees around his waist and hoisting him up onto the workbench. A bunch of tools dig into his ass so he can't help a grunt of pain, and Derek jerks back, his hands fluttering at Stiles' sides.

"Shit, are you—"

"Dude, seriously?" Stiles shifts and pulls out a chisel out from under his thigh, waggling it at him. "I'm a delicate human, yeah, but I trust you not to squish me okay? I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Technically, you came here because of Declan and/or Laura," Derek points out and damn, he really knows how to ruin the mood, wow.

"I can quite honestly tell you that I have _never_ come because of Laura or Declan, not even after I saw him in that photoshoot with Zoe Saldana in the shower. You, though..." He reaches out, yanks Derek closer and slides his hand under Derek's waistband, edging downwards, stopping just when his fingers start to curve over an ass cheek. "You've made me come plenty."

Derek inhales sharply and that, _that_ is what Stiles has been aiming for—that look of bewildered lust, that expression of overwhelmed _want_. Yeah. That's it exactly.

Stiles softens his tone, reaching up with his free hand to brush Derek's stiff hair (so much product, but then nothing will ever beat Stiles' junior year of high school when it comes to over styling, when he was so obviously trying to overcompensate for everything in the worst way) off his forehead. "Okay I'm gonna get romantic for a minute, because I'm not even using the jizz-related meaning of the word when I say that I would come anywhere for you, Derek. I hope you know that."

Derek holds his gaze, looking like he's been punched in the stomach. Then he sighs. "Only you would think using the word 'jizz' is romantic."

It must have worked though, because he swoops down and presses their lips together, not even waiting for any build up before adding tongue. And because Stiles is always prepared (okay not really, but he is quick to adapt which is clearly what matters most), he jumps right in too. He works his hand the rest of the way in to clench around Derek's ass cheek, pulling him closer, getting all up in there like he's wanted to do for so long now. It's just as awesome as he imagined, probably even more awesome, because his daydreams never included this many senses, this much _feeling_ —not from himself but from _Derek_. In Stiles' head, he himself was the instigator, he was the one who wanted it, the one who wouldn't regret it afterwards. He was the one who was pining and who would treasure any opportunity he had with Derek. He's always known what this would mean for himself, but he'd never really allowed himself to think about how much Derek would want it. About how the reddened ears and the little almost-whines and the hot possessive palms would make it even _better_.

What a disservice his lack of imagination and abstract thinking has been doing Derek.

What a fucking waste of time his fantasies have been.

Which reminds him—

"So I've discovered I'm not the hugest fan of scratching but all biting systems are go, that cool?" Stiles pants, and Derek waits exactly zero seconds before biting down on the side of his neck, hot and tight, _fuck_ , he's totally gonna need that scarf back from Declan now, shiiiiit. Derek says nothing, because apparently Stiles' neck is like catnip (wolfnip?) or some shit and he spends the next too-many minutes chilling there, biting and licking. It's awesome and all but Stiles' dick feels like it's going to implode or something equally terrifying, so he grabs Derek's arm.

"Couch?" he asks.

"Couch," Derek confirms.

The speed at which Derek gets them up, on their feet, out of their clothes and to the couch is almost dizzying, and Stiles has to take a few steadying breaths before he throws himself onto it, dragging Derek after him.

Derek raises an eyebrow. Of course he would be even less talkative in a sexy situation.

"My dick needs your dick, dude, it's getting pretty desperate. Or like, at least your hand, because— o— okay, mouth it is," he squeaks out, as Derek dives down his body and practically shoves Stiles' dick in his mouth, which sounds way less hot than it actually is.

Stiles has had enthusiastic sex before. He's slept with people he really likes, people he's been really attracted to, and it's been amazing, it's been _superb_ , but this here with Derek is... This here, now, is so many fucking times better than any of that that Lydia probably wouldn't even be able to calculate it with her fucking math-genius brain. This is real and messy and hot and Derek is both needy and giving and he almost pokes himself in the eye with Stiles' dick (and oh god Stiles must be deranged because he even finds _that_ hot) when he tries to be sexy and lick along a vein and Stiles is gonna come way too fucking early and—

Stiles _is_ coming way too fucking early, right into Derek's mouth, but Derek is swallowing it and licking his lips and fucking shit he's really fucking amazing, he's the best, he's perfect. Stiles barely gives either of them time to recover, can't stop himself from grabbing Derek and pulling him on top of him and into a tight hug, stroking his hands through Derek's hair (ugh even more gross now because of the sweaty gel but oh well, that probably just means they'll have to shower together later, what a shame).

"We're doing this at least once a day for the rest of winter br— no, for the rest of _time_ ," he instructs, throwing his legs around Derek's calves for good measure, trapping them together and pressing hard. "And next time you visit me at school you're staying in _my_ bed, with _me_ in it."

"Stiles," Derek says, sounding pained, his first words in forever, and Stiles holds his breath waiting to see what he's going to say. "You're… crushing my dick."

"Shit, sorry!" He lets go and Derek ends up propped up on one elbow next to him, brushing his fingers over Stiles' torso, trailing from the hair between his pecs to the hair beneath his navel. It's really nice, in a shivery quiet sort of way, and Stiles stays silent for a few moments to let them both finally catch their breath. "What do you want?" he asks finally, once enough time has probably passed. "Wanna fuck me?"

Derek swallows, leans down to rub his face against Stiles' throat. "I always wanna fuck you. Anywhere. Everywhere. Leave my mark on you, leave our mark on the world. All the time."

Ohhhhh shit. That is such an incredible mixture of kinky and gross, Stiles has no idea what to do with it. So much for that 'terrible at dirty talk' theory. "Duuuuude," he groans.

"Yeah?" Derek says. He smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing when it's genuine. Stiles reaches up to press his fingers to it.

"Always," he promises.

Derek watches him for a few moments. Stiles rarely feels comfortable exchanging prolonged eye contact with anyone, but Derek makes it feel okay, especially when he presses a gentle kiss to his fingers and then drags them down to his chest. "But not today," Derek decides. "Will you touch me instead?"

"Always," Stiles says again. He scrambles up and manoeuvres Derek until he's sitting up on the couch, clambering over him to slip into a kneeling position between his legs on the floor. Reaching up with both hands, he rubs them across Derek's nipples and then down, ending with his hands on Derek's thighs, thumbs brushing where the hair looks denser and darker in the crease of his groin. He rubs there for a moment, enjoying Derek's stupid sex-face expressions, before drifting his right hand over Derek's balls and then over, to run the flat of his index finger slowly up the underside of Derek's dick. Derek grunts and jerks up, but then his abs clench and he forces himself to relax back against the couch, and it's such an attractive display of power and control that Stiles feels it's only right to reward him with more stimulation. His finger moves a little faster, trailing up and down, and Stiles looks up to see Derek glaring frustratedly at him but it's kind of tempered by the way his mouth is hanging open. Stiles grins.

"Come on," Derek demands, shifting his hips upwards.

"Since when have you known me to follow orders," Stiles says idly, but only lingers for a few more moments and then he's wrapping his fingers around Derek's dick and sliding them to the base. Derek's thicker down there, and it's gonna feel amazing when they get around to fucking, he knows it. His fingers flex, gently squeezing and then releasing, and then he drags them further up Derek's dick, finally jacking him for real. But he can't only have one hand on Derek—has be touching him as much as possible—so he brings his other hand into play too, hooking his thumb gently around the base of Derek's dick, curling his fingers around, just lightly holding his balls. Still mostly teasing, because it is a _lot_ of fucking fun.

"You're an idiot and I hate you," Derek says, eyes flashing.

Stiles half shrugs, reluctant to do anything that might dislodge his hands. "Win some, lose some."

It takes Derek a little longer than it took Stiles to get off, but when he does come it's all over Stiles' fingers, hot and thick and _awesome_.

"I'd say that's definitely a win," Stiles says, and cleans them both up with his tongue.

Derek doesn't argue.

+

They don't hang around for long once they've both cleaned up. (Well, sort of cleaned up. Neither of them can really bring themselves to feel bad about the lingering sex smell they've no doubt left in Cora's workroom, and Derek actually seems pretty smug about it. Cora is going to _kill_ them.) Derek's pretty grabby all the way back to the loft—hand on the back of Stiles' neck while he's driving, shoulder to shoulder in the elevator, mouth barely leaving Stiles' jaw as he attempts multitasking to wrench the front door open—and then he's practically throwing Stiles onto the bed for more fucking.

It happens both in a blur and really, scarily, fucking _acutely_ clearly for Stiles. It's like his focus is torn in a million different directions, like he's both hot and trembling, like he's high and then he's slow, empty and too full, and it's pretty fucking fantastic.

And yeah—the fucking's pretty fantastic, too.

+

"We should go on a date," Stiles says, the next morning. He's trying to motivate himself to go and make breakfast, but considering that involves moving (not to mention probably seeing Declan downstairs, gross) it's not really working.

"You're paying for it," Derek says. He shifts around where he's using Stiles' pec as a pillow, only to resettle with his head in basically exactly the same position. He doesn't open his eyes. "Cora's probably gonna use the rest of my paychecks for the next century to redecorate her entire workroom."

"Oh bae," Stiles croons. "I'd be honoured to be your sugar daddy."

Derek sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://fishcommander.tumblr.com)! I'm kind of lonely and I tend to split most of my time between reblogging other people's AU ideas whilst wishing they could magic themselves into being, and fawning over Dylan O'Brien. But knowing someone else who cares about the fact that TYLER HOECHLIN IS COMING TO AUSTRALIA!!!! would definitely be nice!


End file.
